


let me lay down beside you

by macabre monkee (meltedsundrops)



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Homophobia, Regency, Romance, also Davy is trans, background dolenzmith but they're a mess don't look at them, because I said so, micky and davy are princes, mike is a royal guard, peter is a gardener
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltedsundrops/pseuds/macabre%20monkee
Summary: Fuck. That was stupid of him.“Oh my goodness!” Someone gasps.“Ow,” Davy gripes. He’s fuzzy from the momentum, but he knows he should keep running before he’s caught. He rolls over onto his back and slowly sits up, trying to regain his composure.“Are you okay?” The person who gasped drops to his side. A stranger. One of the gardeners, probably.“M’fine,” Davy mumbles, rubbing his cheek.“You don’t look fine,” the gardener frowns. Davy turns to meet his gaze, soft brown eyes looking at him full of concern. Woah.In which a mischievous prince is actually a hopeless romantic, finding himself falling for a simple gardener, this crush turning him from a charming playboy into a bumbling fool.
Relationships: Davy Jones/Peter Tork
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	let me lay down beside you

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie! I have had brainworms for this idea since September and I am so incredibly excited to be sharing with you this massive work of love and stupidity. I have not written this much nor have I been this excited for a work I have written since I was eleven, so please be kind to my tender heart.
> 
> This fic would not exist without [wesley2015remaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesley2015remaster/), not only because he decided that the Monkees needed a prince au but because he has encouraged me every step of the way, from drawing my silly little ideas to actively yelling at me to go back to writing on the doc. I also wanted to give special thanks to my partner Kai, who makes it her job to boost my confidence in writing as well as being the main reason that I myself am a lovey-dovey bitch.
> 
> You can find me and Wes mainly on Twitter, [Iemonsundrop](https://twitter.com/Iemonsundrop/) and [mthernaturesson](https://twitter.com/mthernaturesson/)  
> You can also find Wes's art on [Tumblr](https://autmnalmanac.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/autmnalmanac/)
> 
> The title comes from Annie’s Song by John Denver. Click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6l1E2ErozRpwfwAn9TU5xI?si=UVF996LzT4KeBbQa3AoFhg) to listen to my personal playlist for this fic.

In societies that give special attention to birth order, it’s not uncommon for the youngest child to have wild sensibilities, navigating through life as tricksters or party animals. The parents are often less strict with them, letting the youngest get away with antics their older siblings could not.

With three older sisters and his place as seventh in line to the throne, Prince David of Amway is not an exception to this rule. Even though he has reached the mature age of twenty, the prince is still likely to be found running through the gardens, a trail of mischief behind him, his actions far from upholding a picture of grace.

“Fuck,” Davy curses with a laugh, bolting from the scene of his latest crime: a prank involving the palace’s tired yet unsuspecting cook and plenty of food colouring. Another boy follows the prince, looking over his shoulder for their pursuer.

“He totally saw us,” Micky gasps for breath as the two boys duck behind a wall. The honorary status of Davy’s dear friend gives him his own pass to make trouble alongside the prince, much to the dismay of the more strict members of the palace staff.

David catches his breath as he anxiously peers around the corner of the brick wall they hide behind, scanning for the familiar strikingly white uniform. “We should head to my room,” he tells Micky. “Play dumb.”

“I’ll race you!” Micky exclaims, dashing away before Davy can even process what he’s said and laughing like a child as he weaves through hedges. Asshole. Micky loves games and harebrained schemes. David loves to go along with them.

Davy sprints deeper into the gardens, hoping that a shortcut through one of the greenhouses will cut off Micky’s path. He’s careful not to run through the patches of flowers, as that would lead to a much harsher fate than their usual pranks. The Gardens of Amway are praised throughout the continent, their immense beauty rumoring them to be the best in the world. The palace may be his childhood playground, but the gardens are also to be respected.

As he runs, David whips his head over his shoulder, making sure that his guard, Michael, hasn’t spotted him. Unfortunately, he looks away for a moment too long, not realizing that he’s about to crash. When he looks back to the path, it’s too late. He hits a wheelbarrow full of clippings with all of his momentum, flying over it and landing face-first in the grass.

Fuck. That was stupid of him.

“Oh my goodness!” Someone gasps.

“Ow,” Davy gripes. He’s fuzzy from the momentum, but he knows he should keep running before he’s caught. He rolls over onto his back and slowly sits up, trying to regain his composure.

“Are you okay?” The person who gasped drops to his side. A stranger. One of the gardeners, probably. 

“M’fine,” Davy mumbles, rubbing his cheek. 

“You don’t look fine,” the gardener frowns. Davy turns to meet his gaze, soft brown eyes looking at him full of concern. Woah.

His heart rate quickens, suddenly self-conscious. David quickly smooths down his hair, pulling grass out of it. Oh god, he probably looks like a wreck. He inspects his clothes for stains, praying that the crash didn’t ruin his usual charm. “I-, uh. It happens all the time, really,” he tries to reassure him.

“I, um—” the stranger stutters too. “I’m real sorry.”

“No, no.” Davy shakes his head “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He quickly looks away from the gardener, shying away from the wight of his gaze. As he does so, he begins to notice the giant mess he’s made. There are prunings scattered all over the ground, the large abundance probably from an entire morning’s work of weeding. “Sorry for knocking over your wheelbarrow,” he sighs and rubs at his face. Oh, man. “I’ll help clean it up.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Brown Eyes moves away from him, starting to pick up the mess himself. Davy shakes his head again, moving next to the gardener to help.

“I’m Davy, by the way,” he introduces himself as they work, tossing clumps back into the wheelbarrow.

“I’m Peter,” the gardener holds out his hand. And he is a gardener. Or he ought to be, given his straw hat and linens. And the wheelbarrow. Davy takes his hand and shakes it, a strange feeling blooming in his chest. He can’t help but smile.

Davy hasn’t spent much time with any of the gardeners, despite the fact he’s lived at the palace all of his life. Though, he usually has no reason to. Father has always said that a gardener has the most important job, given the fact the palace’s gardens are what draws attention to their country, but their job is as invisible as it is important, proven further by the revolving door of workers. There are only five year-round gardeners, the rest applying for the temporary seasonal job, hundreds of applicants interviewed over the winter months until spring. Fifteen young workers are chosen, beginning work once the snow melts, and all leaving as soon as the harvest festival is over.

It’s quite odd to him now, as he thinks it over, that he hasn’t bothered to make friends with any of them, considering the gardeners are usually around his age and should have adequate time off per Father’s rules and regulations. Maybe he’d be more inclined if they all were as cute as the one before him.

Their work is done in only a few minutes, the moment between them fleeting far too soon. It’s a pity. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Peter?”

Peter shakes his head as the two of them stand up, his hair brushing his cheeks. Is it brown or blond? “I’m all good,” he smiles. “Nothing to worry about now that the mess is cleaned up.”

“Are you sure?” Davy’s feet struggle to remain still, a part of him desperate to hold the gardener’s attention just a little longer. “I’d offer to get you something from the kitchen, but the cook’s pretty cross with me right now,” he laughs awkwardly. He’s feeling uncharacteristically twitchy under Peter’s warm gaze.

“It’s really fine,” Peter reassures him and Davy could probably stay standing there for hours, looking into his big brown eyes and trying not to melt into a puddle.

Davy opens his mouth to say something, trying to muster up his usual confidence when talking to someone of interest, but there’s a flash of white down the path behind them. Goddammit.

“Oh, Peter, I’ve loved chatting with you, but I’ve really got to go.” Davy begins to back away, rushing through his words. Down that path, Mike catches his eye. Christ. “Bye!”

He sprints away, trying to remember the original plan. The Gardens are huge, with lots of hiding spots, so it shouldn’t be too hard to confuse Mike. He takes a few misleading paths, just a cut through these hedges and backtracking into one of the greenhouses, weaving around exterior walls and tall maintained crops. In a few minutes, he makes it up to the safety of his bedroom, hoping it’ll take a while for Mike to figure out where they ended up.

Micky is already there, lounging on Davy’s couch and flipping through one of the young prince’s many romance novels. This one’s about a princess and a stable boy, though Micky is likely not paying any real attention to it given the fact he’s not wearing his glasses. “I definitely won,” he teases.

Davy rolls his eyes and grabs the book from Micky’s hands, placing it back on the bookshelf. He’s quite proud of his expansive collection, even if Mike and Micky love to tease him over it. Romance novels just have a certain charm to them.

“Why’d you take so long, anyway?” He’s picking at his fingernails, not actually interested but rather bored.

Davy hums, walking over to the windows and pushing aside his lavish green curtains. “I met one of the new gardeners Father hired.”

“Oh?” Micky sits up, his interest piqued. “Are they cute?”

“Yes,” Davy presses open up the large window, breathing in the fresh air. He rests on the windowsill, silently scanning the section of the garden that his room looks out over. Davy’s room looks out at small paths of flowers, vibrant in the spring sunlight. He feels so giddy, unable to deny the spark of attraction he experienced, despite the fact his suave demeanor was stamped out by shock and nerves.

A smile spreads across his face as he catches sight of Peter, walking through the small path between the flowers, pushing his wheelbarrow. “Here he is!” Davy shoots up. “Micky, come look.”

Micky wanders over at his friend’s request, the two of them watching closely as the gardener fans himself with his straw hat. “Oh, he is cute.”

Davy sits back down with a dreamy sigh. “His name is Peter,” he feels the name warm his chest. “And he’s got the kindest smile.”

“You really oughta stop falling in love with every person you meet,” Micky ruffles his hair. “It’s getting a little inconvenient.”

Just as Davy’s about to defend himself, Mike bursts through the bedroom door. “Do y’all wanna tell me what that was?”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” Micky turns around, a hand on his hip.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Mike grumbles, throwing himself onto the overstuffed armchair. “You know just what I mean.”

“If you’re talking about the pastries, we had nothing to do with it,” Davy turns to face him, flashing a grin.

He raises an eyebrow. “Then how would you two know about it?”

“Oops,” Micky crashes back onto the couch. “Guess you caught us,” he shrugs.

“Oh, however will we survive?” Davy rolls his eyes and goes back to staring out the window.

“What’s with him?” Mike asks Micky. He seems to have lost interest in any lectures he might have had about not causing trouble for people just trying to do their job. It’s not like they were going to receive any real punishment anyway.

“Oh, y’know,” Micky gestures to the bookshelf, a regular target of his jokes. “In love. Again.” The two of them share a laugh at Davy’s expense. Assholes. Even if there is some truth to their jokes, it’s rude of them to point it out.

Yes, of the seventeen charmingly beautiful people David has crossed paths with in the past year, sixteen of them he’s insisted experiencing ‘love at first sight’ with, though all of them are gone and forgotten by now. But he still has hope.

“This one’s different,” Davy insists as he watches it begin to rain. Peter is frantically gathering his garden tools, likely hurrying to secure them in the toolshed.

“That’s what you always say.” Now it’s Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. Of the sixteen, Davy had needed his advice for all of them. As well as consolement when things with Davy’s new love didn't work out. Mike’s a bit tired of it all.

“Oh, Michael,” Micky cries out in jest, now draping himself over the arm of Mike’s chair, a hand flush against his forehead. “He’s got the sweetest eyes! The warmest laugh! The kindest smile!” He turns around and grabs Mike’s shirt. “Oh, I have to have him, that pretty! little! gardener! Please, Mike, please!” 

Davy doesn’t let Micky’s mockery bother him, knowing full well that it’s just an excuse to touch Mike without the bat of any eyelashes. He doesn’t have to face the two of them to know that Mike’s complexion is as red as a tomato or that Micky’s sweaty palms are not a symptom of fantastic acting, as he would otherwise insist. The two of them may laugh and groan at Davy’s numerous attempts at love, but neither of them have bothered to make a move on their obvious mutual affections in over two years, despite their sharing of longing glances since Micky’s arrival at the palace, much to David’s dismay. Their insufferable charade would likely end if either of them bothered to actually read one of the novels Davy has recommended them, but Micky and Mike are both too stubborn and far too anxious to improve upon their situation, making any opinion they may have on David’s love life obsolete. Besides, he has a feeling that this one really is different.

Davy never had trouble talking to any of those sixteen suitors. Even before then, he’s always been the charming and flirtatious one. Yet with Peter, everything slowed down. His mind went completely blank. He felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. That’s not typical behavior for him.

The rain picks up outside. Thankfully, another gardener runs to Peter’s aid and assists him in carrying his tools. David stays watching until he has to shut the window to avoid flooding his dear bedroom. Some of the most beautiful romantic scenes happen during rainstorms, he remembers, though it’s far too early for a romantic climax like that.

“Davy,” Mike finally calls his attention. “You can talk to him later,” he flashes a kind smile, slipping right back into the brotherly role he was hired for in the first place. “Come play cards.”

It continues to rain for the next few days, soiling David’s mood. He hates being confined inside the palace, especially when there’s a sight in the garden he’d like to see.

Once the rain lets up and the grass dries, Davy sits himself under his favorite tree, continuing his normal routine of quietly reading a novel in the late morning, a small plate of snacks at his side as he lounges. It makes him feel like a romantic hero.

The book is one he’s read before, countless times actually, but it’s comforting nonetheless. It’s about a traveling painter, a young man who is commissioned to paint royal portraits all over the continent, and the young prince who keeps paying to be painted, just so the artist won’t leave. At the end of the book, the prince breaks free from his strict royal upbringing and travels the world with the painter. Though Davy does not mind his cushy lifestyle in Amway, he often fantasizes about leaving. Not forever, of course, but long enough to see the world he’s barred from seeing.

“Davy!” Someone calls out to him. On a normal occasion, Davy would be bitter about them interrupting his book just as the prince finally asks the painter to dance with him, but he recognizes the voice immediately and quickly closes his book to look around for the source.

His heart squeezes as he spots a familiar gardener headed his way. Peter’s not wearing his hat today, favored instead for a flower tucked behind his ear. His hair looks quite blond under this light, appearing almost angelic despite his suspenders and the green grass stains all over his trousers.

“Peter!” Davy jumps to his feet, grinning wide at the boy that’s spent half the week in the back of his thoughts.

Peter hurries over, all bright smiles. “I’m so glad I found you again,” he catches his breath, taking away Davy’s in the process.

“You were looking for me?” David’s already blushing.

“Of course,” he says so earnestly.

“Well, I’m almost always under this tree,” he gestures behind him. “If you need to find me again.”

“I’ll remember it,” Peter promises.

Davy shifts from side to side, unsure what to say next. “Is there a reason you needed to this time?”

“Oh!” He nods quickly, holding up something in his hands. “I— I made you something,” a soft blush fills his cheeks. “To thank you for the other day.”

“Oh.” God, there’s no way Davy’s face could get any redder. “You didn’t have to do that, it was my fault that—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts and presses something in Davy’s hands. A bundle of daisies, beautiful and white. Their stems carefully braided together into a circle. Davy smiles at it, moving it back and forth in his hands. “It’s a, uh, a daisy chain,” Peter stumbles through his words. “It goes on your head. Like this.”

Peter slides the flowers out of his grasp, placing them on Davy’s head.

“Oh!” Davy brightens with understanding. “It’s just like a crown!”

“Do you like it?” He looks at Davy with the most pleading eyes.

“Oh, Peter, I love it!” Before he can overthink it, he pulls the gardener into a hug, relaxing as Peter reciprocates. A hand rests at the back of Davy’s head. He expects Peter to let go quickly, to brush himself off and leave Davy trapped in his thoughts. But he doesn’t. Peter holds him close, for a minute at the very least, breathing deeply and taking in the comfort. 

He does let go, eventually, but it’s gradual, hands slowly sliding down Davy’s back and lingering, just for a moment. “I have to get back to work,” he sighs.

Davy clears his throat, trying to process everything. He fixes the flowers on his head as a distraction. “Thank you,” he smiles.

Peter takes Davy’s hands in his, kind eyes peering into him. “I’d like to see you again,” he squeezes. It’s this close that Davy can see his freckles, scattered over his face, some that Davy swears are darker than they were last. David memorizes this face, tattoos it to the back of his eyelids, and tries to relax under Peter’s warm touch.

“Yes,” Davy nods vigorously, feeling his face heat up again. “Yes, that would be nice, Peter.”

He doesn’t let go. He knows that Peter should leave, Peter knows it too, but Davy just wants to stand here, just for a moment or two. Peter laughs a little, recognizing the longing touch. His laugh is adorable and Davy is utterly useless.

“Goodbye, Davy,” he squeezes Davy’s hands one last time and pulls away from his grip.

“Goodbye,” the young prince mumbles, his face a shade of vermillion.

Peter heads off towards the greenhouses, looking back with that sweet smile of his. 

What even was that? The whole time David could barely say anything, melting under the gaze of a simple gardener. What the fuck is wrong with him? Years of charisma he’s built up talking to pretty strangers have gone down the drain, leaving him barely more than a babbling fool. He gathers up his things and starts heading back to the palace, mind racing and face still flushed.

Once inside, Davy bounds up the stairs, holding the crown to his head so it doesn’t fall off. “Micky!” David storms down the hallway, throwing open the door to Micky’s room and interrupting a guitar lesson guaranteed to have been filled with vague flirtation and subtle brushes of fingers.

“Hey!” Micky frowns. “What’s the big idea?”

“Davy!” Mike quickly moves a foot away on the couch, distancing himself from his seat at Micky’s side, as if it wasn’t already obvious to Davy that he had been mooning over the boy. “It’s rude not to knock!”

“Oh please,” Davy rolls his eyes, not in the mood for a lecture. “Micky’s the worst offender, I’m just following his lead.” He sets down his book and the plate on Micky’s dressing table, though most of the berries that sat on his plate flew off in his hurry up the stairs. “Besides, I need your help.”

“What’s got you so hyped up?” Micky studies him as he carefully sets down the guitar. The lessons, usually once or twice a week, feed into the dream Mike has about the three of them becoming some sort of musical trio. Mike’s always rambled on about wanting to be a traveling show, though they’re all aware they won’t get far by just playing a song or two at family events.

“I can’t talk to him!” He throws his hands into the air, keeping the attention on his woes.

Micky frowns. “Can’t talk to who?”

“Peter!” He sits on the other couch, across from Micky and Mike, putting his head in his hands. “He came to see me today and I acted like a fool.”

“Oh, come on now, you’re not a fool, Davy,” Mike stands up, crossing over to him.

“I’ve never been so frozen up,” he sighs. “Normally, I’m charming and cute! But he makes me nervous.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing.” Mike rubs his back. “Maybe you need to learn to take things slow.”

“Tell him that! I mean, look what he made me!” Davy gestures to the flowers on his head. “It’s a crown and it’s beautiful and perfect and I nearly cried.”

Micky laughs softly. “A little gift like that makes you feel crazy? God, you’re such a lovey-dovey bitch.”

“Everything about him makes me feel crazy,” Davy mumbles, shrugging off Mike to stand back up and wander around the room.

“C’mon, you barely know him, babe.” Mike stands as well, putting a hand on his hip. “What’s so great about him?”

Mike should have known better than to let Davy ramble on, the young prince getting that dreamy look in his eye. “He thinks about me, enough to give me a gift to thank me. He stuttered the whole time,” Davy unwraps a scarf from Micky’s bedpost, wrapping it around his neck. “He held me in his arms for a full minute. Just holding me. I think he likes me.”

He’s dancing around the room now, humming softly as he grabs Mike and spins him around. Mike somehow plays along, crouching down so that he can spin under Davy’s short arms, though he’s back to business as soon as he’s let go. “Peter’s not scared of you being his boss’s son?”

“Technically Babbitt is his boss,” Davy corrects, pulling off the scarf and wrapping it around Mike. “Father rarely interacts with garden staff.”

“Ah, Babbitt,” Micky feigns fondness, standing up and resting his arm on Mike’s shoulder. “That old dick.”

“Micky,” Mike shoots him a glare.

“C’mon Mike, you hate him as much as we do,” Micky plays with the scarf. “Harry’s needed to replace him for years.”

“And hopefully, in time, he will.” He brushes Micky off, throwing the scarf aside and fixing his uniform. “But Davy, you know you’re not supposed to flirt with the staff. Especially not one of the gardeners.”

“It’s not flirting if he can barely talk to him,” Micky snarks.

Davy ignores them, sighing dreamily and wandering over to the windows, beginning to open them up. “I’m just grateful that he remembered me.”

“Oh, not this again,” Micky groans, chasing after him. “Can’t you do this in your own room?”

“You’ve got a better view of the greenhouses,” Davy shrugs, sitting down at one of the windowsills. 

“Of course,” Micky huffs, crossing his arms. He begins imitating Davy’s accent, leaning into Mike again. “Oh, I just have to spend all hours of the day watching my dear gardener, Michael. I can barely say more than a few words to him, but I just get so dreamy when I think of how much of a lovely boy he is!”

“Alright Mick, enough jokes.” Mike cuts in quickly, doing his best to defend his charge. He grabs Micky’s arm and pulls him back towards the couches. “We need to get back to work.”

Micky sighs, letting himself be dragged back across the room. “Well, at least he made you something instead of trying to buy your affections. Those guys were all dicks.”

“You’re just jealous that I actually get suitors,” Davy sticks his tongue out like a brat.

“I don’t know, David,” Micky says as Mike makes him sit on the couch. “I’ve gotten quite the attention since Michael told me to keep my hair au naturale during parties,” he lightly pats his curls. “Maybe I’ll fetch someone at your father’s birthday.”

“You won't be fetching anything if you never finish learning to play,” Mike hands Micky the guitar. “Let’s go over the intro again.”

“Aw, come on, Mike,” Micky whines. “I’ve done it like a hundred times, you know I don’t have dexterous fingers.”

Davy snorts from the window, earning an icy glare.

“Just a few more times, Mick,” Mike smiles, using his Patient Voice, the one that Davy is far past familiar with. “You’ve almost got it.”

A long stretch of sunny days greets the palace, giving Davy the perfect chance to relax under his reading tree with a book. This has been his spot for years, actually. When David was younger, his father would set up a picnic blanket and pillows for him on mornings where he knew Davy would like to read. The tree’s shade is always the perfect amount on a hot day and the spot feels truly hidden from the rest of the world. Being so, Davy is always surprised when someone breaks his solitude, even when they’re invited.

“Whatcha reading?” A voice calls out, interrupting him.

Davy jumps and clutches his book to his chest, panicking briefly. “Oh,” he catches his breath, processing the person in front of him. “Peter, you scared me.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Peter stands there patiently, twiddling his thumbs.

“Come sit!” Davy pats the ground next to him and Peter listens, quietly sitting next to him.

“Whatcha reading?” He asks again, pulling off his hat and setting it aside.

“It’s just some silly romance novel,” Davy tries to shrug it off, putting it down and turning his focus to Peter. He looks a little tired today, his face slightly pink with sunburn.

He frowns, leaning closer to Davy, and trying to reach around him for the book. “If it’s so silly then why are you reading it?”

Davy sighs. “It’s not really silly, I guess.” He eyes Peter carefully, trying to figure out his motivation. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I don’t like that word,” Peter scrunches up his nose. Cute. “I don’t think you should be ashamed of anything. I won’t judge you.”

Davy meets Peter’s eye and flushes bright red. “Really?”

Peter nods. For some reason, Davy can’t help but trust him.

“Thank you,” he smiles and looks down, trying to escape Peter’s gaze. He still looks at him. Smiles at him. Davy’s stomach is blossoming with butterflies because man, Peter’s the kind of person you’d label as a ‘ray of sunshine.’

“Would you read it to me?” Peter’s large brown eyes plead like a puppy dog. Fuck.

“Okay,” Davy manages with a nervous laugh. His face is burning. He still can’t seem to summon the usual courage he has when talking to someone he’s interested in, his heart just sitting in his throat. He picks up the novel.

He’s already finished the novel he was reading the other day, moving onto one he’s only read once before. It’s about a rich nobleman’s estranged son, who returns home only to help his sick father. The son is reunited with his best friend from childhood, Noel, who works for his father. It’s about first love and understanding and Davy’s sure that he cried when he initially finished reading it.

Davy marks his place and goes back to the beginning, clearing his throat. As the young prince begins to read, Peter casually tries to get comfortable, resting his head on Davy’s shoulder. Holy shit.

He stumbles over a sentence and shuts his eyes, forcing himself to relax. As he starts reading again, he matches his breathing to Peter’s. 

David has always been physically affectionate, ever since he was a child, but rarely is someone affectionate back. Mike tends to shy away from touch while Micky mainly keeps to arms thrown around shoulders and hair ruffling. Davy’s father and sisters give him hugs, but only as general greetings. Even those who Davy had courted rarely gave him the affection he wished for, eager to kiss him yet declining to hold his hand. This is more than the hug they had shared, this was Peter unknowingly filling the gap of a missing puzzle piece.

Davy keeps his voice steady as he reads, listening to the small gasps and “aww”s that Peter emits as the story develops, Davy’s mind wandering as he reads on about the lingering touches between Noel and the nobleman’s son.

Peter has to leave all too soon, blushing and mumbling that he’s lost track of time. The butterflies in David’s stomach do not fade as Pete grants the prince a sleepy smile and leaves the quiet nook. It’s a surprise when he shows up the next day, asking for Davy to continue the story, but David gladly indulges him, letting himself get used to their mutual affection.

Something Davy knows about Mike is that he loves card games. “It’s an all-purpose tool,” he insists, and Davy has no way to prove him wrong. When you need to make a friend, can’t speak your mind, or just need to pass the time, a deck of cards can fill in the gap with ease. Or they would if one of the players wasn’t so distracted.

“Your turn, Davy,” Mike relaxes into his armchair. He’s reorganizing his cards, making sure the others can’t sense a pattern in where he draws his cards from. Davy doesn’t move, his mind stuck elsewhere. “Davy? David!”

“Hmm?” The young prince’s head returns from the clouds, looking at his oldest friend with utter confusion.

Mike raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing,” he points to Davy’s hand of cards. “You never lose at Cheat, yet you’ve lost the last two rounds. To Micky, no less.”

“Hey!” Micky hits Mike’s arm, though the look on his face hints that he agrees. Micky is terrible at Cheat. 

“What’s up with you?” Mike tosses his cards onto the deck, abandoning the game. “Are you still on about that gardener?”

“How could I not be?” Davy sighs dreamily. He’s spent the last week meeting Peter at lunch, moving on from reading books together to Peter sharing the ins and outs of the work of a palace gardener, the two of them chatting over sandwiches he had to make himself. It’s been quite wonderful, having something to look forward to each day.

“Well, David,” Micky tosses out his own hand of cards, an absolute mess due to his insistence on lack of organization as a strategy. “You usually lose interest by now.”

“I’ve told you,” he shakes his head. “Peter’s different.”

Mike takes off his cap, running fingers through his hair. He’s exasperated, the sigh that shakes out of him hinting at a paternal worry. “What makes him so different from the others?” 

“Everything.” Davy’s fingers play with the lace lining at the bottom of his shirt. “He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“You read too many romance novels,” Micky lightly shoves him, a laugh that sounds a little too forced. It’s not hard to tell that they’re worried about him.

Mike and Micky have constantly critiqued him for falling too fast. While most of their criticisms are under the guise of a joke, Davy knows the look in their eyes, a worry that he’s headed towards a broken heart. “I’ll be fine,” he insists.

Mike realizes it’s best to just drop the subject and clears his throat, pulling a new topic out of thin air. “Are we still walking up to the pond on Saturday?”

“Yes!” Micky claps his hands together. “Anne convinced Mrs. Williams to make us a picnic basket.”

“You’re lucky the cooks will do anything for us after that stunt you pulled last week,” Mike grumbles. He’d hardly been mad at them when they did it, an amused look hiding underneath his stern glare, but the three of them aren’t reliable when it comes to making their own meals and didn’t take well to being left to their own devices as punishment.

Davy crosses his arms. “Grandfather thought the food prank was hilarious. Besides, the Countess of Harris loved eating them. Purple is her favorite colour.”

“It still is never a good idea to mess with Mrs. Williams,” Michael shakes his head, a small shiver down his back as he clearly remembers the meal Micky tried to serve him the other night. No food should ever be that shade of green.

“I hate to agree, but my father did always say that you never want to piss off a cook or a maid,” Micky sighs. “It’s why I’m so good to Anne.”

“Anne says you’re a monster,” Davy rolls his eyes. “I bet she’d much rather leave the palace and go work for one of my sisters.”

“Good in his standards, Davy,” Mike laughs.

Micky crinkles his nose and tosses a throw pillow at Mike. “Whatever.”

Mike catches the pillow and hugs it, putting the violence on pause. “Worrying about maids and cooks aside, the picnic should be fun.”

“It will,” Davy smiles and picks up the pile of cards, dealing between the three of them. “As long as you remember to bring sunscreen.”

“Hey!” Mike frowns, picking up his cards as he’s dealt them. “S’not my fault I burn so easily.”

“But it’s your fault if we forget about it,” Micky laughs.

They pick up the game again, still teasing one another as they play. His full focus returned to the boys, Davy’s quick to call out Micky’s obvious lies and attempts to sneak more cards into the pile.

“Two Aces,” Mike sets down his cards, his sleek poker face in use. Micky eyes him down, hoping to break him, while Davy considers Michael’s claim, thinking back to how many piles of cards Micky has had to pick up with a whine. Then stop saying I’m cheatin’, Mike had teased him the last time he complained, when Mike really did have three sevens this late in the game.

“Cheat,” Davy eyes him down, gambling his chance of winning, only one card left in his hand.

Mike flips over his cards with a sigh, displaying a five and an eight, and takes in the entire deck, his hand doubled.

“Three twos,” Micky sighs and Davy knows better than to challenge it, sure that Micky has over thirty cards in his hand by now. God, he really sucked at this game.

“A three,” Davy sets down his card with a triumphant grin.

“Nuh-uh, I call Cheat,” Mike shakes his head, knowing that Davy’s gambled like that before.

Davy flips over his three with a smirk, laughing as Micky groans in defeat and Mike crosses his arms with a huff.

They keep playing through the evening, until Micky gets fed up with losing and they all begin to bicker, raucous laughter filling up Davy’s room and Davy is sure that if things don’t work out with Peter, at least he knows he is loved.

Since he was a child, Davy had always been told to refer to the small natural pool near the palace as “the pond.” Micky constantly insists that they should call it “the lake” since there aren’t any bigger bodies of water within a certain mile radius of the palace, but Grandfather says their family has referred to it as “the pond” for generations and Davy is not going to let Micky’s opinion or any science change that.

The path to the pond is through the woods, about a mile through the trees along a path Davy’s great grandfather and his brothers made as a child. It’s a beautiful walk in early summer and the best way to spend a Saturday.

David carries the picnic basket with glee, basking in the sunlight. Summer is undeniably his favorite season. Even if the heat can be unbearable at times, he loves the sunlight.

Mike’s captured all the three of them in a lively game of “I Spy” while they travel the fifteen-minute walk up to the pond, leaning into one another as the sun beams down, the boys traveling out just before noon.

“Alright, Davy, I’m starving!” Micky pipes up as soon as the trail opens up to their perfect picnic spot, just a few feet from the edge of the water.

“Hold your horses,” Mike grabs at his vest, tugging him away from the basket to help spread the blanket on the grass.

Davy sits down with a smile, setting the picnic basket next to him, his stomach rumbling as his own patience wears thin. Micky joins him on the blanket, leaning over to rummage through, but gets his hands smacked in response.

Mike keeps watch, slipping back into the rigidity he tries to uphold outside of their rooms. He’s always been more than a member of the staff yet he still gets anxious about his role. As if they’d replace him the moment he didn’t meet the right expectations.

“Mikeee!” Davy draws out with a whine, looking over at the guard. “Go off-duty for just a minute, man.”

“I’m just lookin’ ‘round to make sure nobody’s gonna surprise us,” he shakes his head.

“No one comes out here but us,” Davy groans. “Just come sit!”

“C’mon, Mike,” Micky bats his eyelashes. “Come eat with us!”

Of course, that’s what does it, as always. They’re so predictable.

Mike joins them with a sigh, sitting down next to Micky, a blush on his cheeks only Davy seems to notice. Micky has Mike wrapped around his finger and neither of them even know it. Davy decides it’s better to ignore them and begins to dig their feast out of the picnic basket, setting containers down along the blanket.

“Hey, Davy?” Micky frowns, interrupting Davy’s struggle to read the labels.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t really pay attention, trying to figure out if the label says ‘brie’ or ‘bread.’ He opens it up to inspect, smiling down at a block of cheese.

Micky hums, clearly distracted by something. “Isn’t that your gardener boy? What’s his name… Peter?”

Davy whips his head up, catching Micky’s mischievous grin. “You’re joking!” He frantically looks behind him and no, Micky isn’t. Peter crouches at the edge of the water, feeding the ducks. Of course.

Michael snorts behind him. “‘No one comes out here but us,’ huh?”

“Hey, Peter!” Micky calls out, a direct attack on poor Davy. “Peter, come eat with us!”

“Micky,” Davy hisses.

Peter takes no notice of their quiet bickering, wandering over to the group with some confusion, likely expecting to have been alone on his visit to the pond.

“Hello, Davy!” Peter flashes his kind smile. He looks over to Micky with a small nod. “Hello, Prince Micky.”

“You know who I am?” Micky tilts his head.

“Oh, everyone does,” Peter grins. “You’re always talking to someone. Asking weird questions about which flowers are poisonous. You’re why we hide where the lily of the valley is grown.”

Mike and Davy both shoot him a look, quite curious what kind of means Micky needs poisonous plants for. He shrugs in response.

It’s then that Peter notices Mike, shifting awkwardly. Was he afraid of authority figures? He crouches down so he can whisper in Davy’s ear. “Are you in trouble? Why is Michael here?”

“Oh, Mike’s just my personal guard,” Davy places a hand on his arm. “Nothing to worry about.”

Peter still seems puzzled, but he pushes it aside in favor of looking down at their spread. “Did you make all of this?”

“Oh no,” Davy blushes. “Mrs. Williams did.”

“It looks delicious,” Peter nods shyly.

“Go ahead and sit with us,” Micky tells him once more.

He nods, quietly sitting next to Davy and helping him open up the rest of the containers. There’s a large variety of berries, cheeses, and bread, some sliced meat and bags of nuts, the perfect spread just at the start of summer.

Mike cuts the sourdough as Micky serves himself a few slices of turkey and a large chunk of aged cheddar (despite the group’s protests of his hogging). They all laugh together, Davy helping Peter fill his plate until it’s overflowing with everything he’s sure to like. He and Micky shove at each other, giggling and tossing blueberries at one another.

When things quiet down, Davy quietly worries that Peter’s strange comment about Mike will dampen the mood of the entire afternoon, but he’s proven wrong.

“So, Peter,” Mike starts, a weak attempt at small talk, clearly noticing the awkwardness of the situation and lost without a deck of cards to keep them company. “Do you play any instruments?”

Peter brightens up. “Yes! Lot’s of them!”

“Really?” Davy looks at him.

Peter nods his head.

“I didn’t know that,” Davy mumbles. Maybe he doesn’t know as much about Peter as he thought.

“You didn’t ask,” he laughs softly and it’s angelic.

“I play a few myself, actually,” Mike brings the attention back to himself. “Right now, I’m teaching Mick guitar,” he grins and lightly elbows the boy next to him, who nearly chokes on a piece of bread. “What do you play?”

“Oh gosh,” He adjusts in his seat. “Well there’s the guitar, violin, double bass, cello,” he counts on his fingers. “Um, the mandolin, harpsichord, banjo, pianoforte, and I’d like to learn the harp and some percussion.”

“Wow,” Mike laughs. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Oh, I never kid,” Peter insists. “My mother always says I get too confused for jokes.”

“Whad'ya mean by percussion?” Micky raises an eyebrow.

“Like drums and stuff, Mick,” Mike cuts in. “They’re those hollow things with animal skin, right? They make different sounds depending on how you hit them, it’s really groovy.”

“Woah!” Micky brightens. “You can make music just by hitting things?”

“You can make music out of anything if you try,” Peter smiles. “I only have my guitar up here, but I keep a few instruments with some friends down in the village.”

“We should play together sometime, Pete,” Mike smiles.

“That’d be wonderful,” he nods.

Micky looks over at Davy, hinting that he’s about to embarrass him like the jerk he is. “We’re all singing for Harry’s party in a few weeks if you wanna see us.”

“Micky!” Davy glares in offense, embarrassed at the thought of Peter watching him perform. Knowing that he’s a musician made the thought even worse.

“No, he should,” Mike puts a hand on Davy’s shoulder. “We don’t really have the musical repertoire you seem to have, but I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

“I don’t really know if I can, but I’ll try!” Right. Peter had mentioned something about Babbitt running them ragged. Though the warmth of his smile is encouraging enough, leading a blushing Davy to reconsider his doubts. Maybe he could impress Peter instead?

The heat begins to become unbearable as the day drifts into early afternoon, slowing everything down.

“It’s too hot,” Micky whines, laying his head on Mike’s shoulder.

“So?” Mike has no pity for him, being the one in a long coat. “Go take a dip.”

“I didn’t bring my suit,” Micky shakes his head. “I didn’t think it’d be this hot. And I’m not gonna bother walking back just for that.”

“Then go in your skivvies,” Mike rolls his eyes. “Not like we haven’t seen you in ‘em before. I doubt Peter minds, do ya Pete?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Peter shakes his head, hair flopping around. “I think I’ll join you!”

“What?” Davy’s eyes widen.

“It sounds like fun,” he grins, standing up.

“Alright, Peter!” Micky gets up as well, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get swimming!”

The two boys start stripping their clothes, all the way down to their cotton drawers, white underpants stark against the green and blue background. Davy can’t help but let out a small laugh, looking at the two of them. Though he’s quite embarrassed about seeing Peter in such a state of undress, the ridiculous look of determination he and Micky have plastered on their faces is charming as ever.

“Wish me luck,” Peter smiles at Davy, tucking his hair behind his ears.

The two boys walk to the edge and wade into the pond together, Micky immediately crying out.

“Cold! Oh, cold!” He shivers. “Gosharooney!”

Peter laughs and keeps pushing in further, until the water sits at his waist. “It’s not that bad, Mick,” he giggles, the nickname coming easily to him. “It’s just real hot out.”

After a while, Micky stops complaining, the two of them swimming out far enough that just their heads bob above the water. They go under at the same time, giggling and splashing at each other when they resurface.

Davy recognizes the playfighting from his spot on the shore, watching as Micky drags Peter under by the ankle and Peter splashes a large amount of water at him in retaliation. There was a part of him that had known if Peter didn’t get along with Mike and Micky, there wouldn’t be a future for the two of them, but Davy had forgotten to consider how it would feel to have someone to fit into their group so easily. Peter does, leaving Davy to realize that now he’s truly at risk of a broken heart.

“Mike! Davy! Come join us!” Micky breaks through his concentration, the two of them waving their arms trying to entice the boys to join them.

“D’you wanna?” Mike nods his head out towards the others.

Davy watches Micky and Peter having fun, fitting in together just as he had hoped. He wanted to be part of that, didn’t he? “If you come with,” he mumbles shyly.

“Only for you,” Mike chuckles and stands up, stripping off his white coat and carefully placing it on the blanket. Davy joins him in stripping down, laughing a little as Micky and Peter cheer from the water.

Davy’s fingers pause at the bottom of his undershirt, considering. Peter and Micky had taken off their own with no hesitation, though probably out of wanting to get fewer garments wet rather than a lack of modesty. He looks up at Mike, who notices his hesitation and keeps his on, smoothing it down. He flashes that kind smile of his and heads into the water, gesturing for Davy to follow. He does.

Despite his anxieties and its initial chill, the water is inviting. It warms up quickly as he wades in and the three most important people in his life cheer him on until they meet in the middle of the water, all friendly until they begin to splash each other, until it’s an all-out war. Davy jumps onto Micky’s back, pushing him underwater. Micky tugs Mike by the ankle. Mike sends a tidal wave to Peter, who laughs and cruelly helps the others turn their attacks back to Davy.

When they get bored with simple roughhousing, Micky gets the bright idea to play Chicken, more than his typical mischief behind the plan. They’ve never had enough people to play themselves, though, so Davy accepts the challenge, sitting on Peter’s shoulders as Micky crawls onto Mike’s. There’s many arguments about what truly constitutes as rule-breaking since Micky is a dirty cheater, but Peter and Davy end up winning the most rounds before Mike complains about his back and they all decide to just relax for the rest of the afternoon.

Dripping wet in the early evening light, the boys walk back to the palace. Micky and Mike walk ahead, Mick’s arm around Mike’s shoulders continuing on one of his usual bits, rambling on about they need to pick out the perfect flowers for their wedding and that Pete has to help them now that they’re friends. Mike’s ears turn red in embarrassment, completely unsure how to react to this affection he so clearly wants. They’re useless.

“Today was really fun,” Peter smiles at Davy as they fall behind, carrying the picnic basket and blanket (he insisted as he had eaten part of their food). “Thank you for letting me join.”

The light is golden around them and Davy can’t stop smiling. He places his hand on Peter’s arm and leans into him out of comfort. “I’d love to have you anytime.”

Davy isn’t sure what he had expected to happen during his lunch with Peter the next day, but he definitely hadn’t expected to spend most of it rubbing aloe vera on the poor boy’s sunburnt body.

“We had sunscreen! You could have just asked,” Davy chides him, talking to distract himself from his hands running along Peter’s bare back.

“I forgot about it,” Peter mumbles sheepishly, rubbing the gel on his chest.

“Let’s hope you heal up fast,” Davy sighs. He moves back to sitting in front of Peter, helping him finish spreading the aloe. He rubs it into Peter’s pink cheeks, smiling a little at the large abundance of freckles. He’s been gaining more and more as summer creeps in.

“I had a lot of fun,” Peter smiles as Davy drops his hands, though he’d much rather sit and chat with his hands on Peter’s cheeks, feeling their warmth as he laughs. 

“I did too,” Davy smiles back at him. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a musician.”

“There’s lots of stuff you don’t know,” Peter shrugs. “I never said you couldn’t ask.”

“Oh!” Davy crosses his legs, placing his hands on his knees. There’s a lot that he’d like to know, now that he thinks about it. He didn’t often think of the things he didn’t know, so it was hard to figure out where to start. “Can you tell me about your childhood? Like your mum and your dad?”

Peter puts a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. “Well, my mom was a traveling musician before I was born. My dad was a soldier. I didn’t see him all that much but I had a lot of pictures. He’d let me sleep in my parents’ bed with them whenever he was home. After he passed, money got tight, so I had to make money working for this older couple helping in their gardens.”

There’s a guilt in Davy’s chest, realizing that he’d never had to worry about money, never was forced to work and help his family. It was something he and Mike had talked about extensively when he was young and somewhat spoiled, learning about the kind of luxury Davy should be grateful for. “How old were you?”

“Nine? Maybe Ten?” Peter shrugs. “My memory isn’t all that great.” He recalls Peter sheepishly admitting that Babbitt had been hard on him for being forgetful. That asshole.

“Nine years old?” Davy’s eyes widen. “So, these people got you into gardening and eventually you made it to Amway?”

“Yeah,” he nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “My mom’s back to traveling now, so most of my things are in my quarters or with my instruments in town.”

“Wow.” He sits there dumbfounded, not sure what he could say. Their lives were quite different, weren’t they? Though Peter seems happy with how his has turned out, even if it wasn’t always cushy.

“What about you, Davy?”

He frowns. “What about me?”

“How did you grow up?” He’s so kind and inviting, the way he eagerly waits for Davy's response.

“Well, y’know. Pretty quiet.” His life really wasn’t that exciting, why would Peter want to know about it? “Father and Grandfather have always been busy working. I was close to my mum, but she passed a few years back. I’ve got three older sisters that I love, though they don’t really get me. But I’ve got Micky and Mike.”

Peter laughs a little. “Those two are really in love, aren’t they?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Davy rolls his eyes, grateful that at least someone else could see it.

“You’ve grown up with them?”

“Well, Micky’s only been around a few years, but we’re really close, like we can read each other’s minds. And then Mike…” He looks down at his hands, a little too nervous to continue making eye contact. “Mike’s like my big brother.”

Peter just smiles, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Nobody really understood me after my mum passed cause I had a lot of stuff I was trying to figure out. So Father brought in Mike. It was pretty weird at first, playing cards all day with a stranger my dad really wanted me to be friends with. Mike’s great, though, so eventually he became just like an older brother. Always there, holding my hand through the hard stuff like doctor’s visits and things.”

“Doctor’s visits?” Peter tilts his head in confusion. “Were you sick a lot?”

“No, no. I was just fixing things…”

He looks at Davy with honest curiosity. Well, if they were really getting to know each other, he might as well get it out of the way.

Davy shifts awkwardly. “I wasn’t always a boy. Well, I was, but I didn’t always know it.”

“Oh!” Peter’s eyes light up in immediate understanding. “That’s really groovy, Davy.”

“It is?” He’s shocked at such an instant and positive response.

“Of course!” Peter grabs his hands. “It means you know exactly who you are, right?

“Yeah,” Davy runs his thumbs over Peter’s knuckles.

“A lot of people get lost because they don’t know who they are. I was for a while, but I figured it out.”

“That’s good,” he laughs.

Peter pulls Davy’s hands to his chest. “I like who you are, Davy.”

He blushes bright red. “I like who you are, too, Pete.”

They talk long throughout the Sunday afternoon, leaning into each other underneath the shade of Davy’s reading tree. He’s never met anyone quite like Peter. He’s someone Davy thinks would be easy to love.

Another week of sandwiches and sweet conversation go by, the two of them easily falling into each other. Davy’s stopped waiting for his charms to come back, letting himself be embarrassed by how kind Peter treats him and melting under his gaze.

After the picnic at the pond, Micky had told Davy he’d disown him if he broke Peter’s heart, but that’s something he definitely won’t be doing. If Peter were to give him his heart, Davy could only hold it in the tenderest of hands. Just as Peter holds his.

“Careful of the hydrangeas,” Peter mumbles as guides Davy through the gardens, the two of them holding hands as he excitedly explains the names of each flower. He beams with pride in his own memory and Davy would kiss him if he wasn’t a coward.

David has no actual need for a tour, considering he grew up in the palace, but Peter had been so excited to give him one that Davy couldn’t dare rain on his parade.

“There’s some beautiful irises coming up this year,” Peter muses as they walk. “Mr. Babbitt said a lot of them may go into bouquets for that party coming up soon.”

“They’ll look beautiful,” Davy squeezes Peter’s hand with a smile.

He continues on about the flowers as Davy leans into him, listening carefully. The gardens are twelve acres of pure beauty, carved directly out of the forest. For centuries the town had survived off of logging, making the idea of tearing down trees for a typical trimmed green lawn absolutely despicable. The emphasis on natural beauty is what sets them apart from the rest.

As they walk down their current bath, something keeps tugging at the back of Davy’s mind. A sense of familiarity. An apple tree hangs over their heads. Davy looks up, suddenly remembering what’s here. “Oh, Peter!” He tugs at the boy’s arm. “We’re right by the wishing fountain!”

“The wishing fountain?” He looks understandably confused. To the gardeners, the fountains around the gardens are used for quickly gathering water for plants that aren’t along the irrigation paths. Though they might double as decoration, none of the fountains have been specified as a wishing fountain. Because it’s Grandfather’s secret.

Davy eagerly tugs him down the path until it opens up to a beautiful stone fountain. “My grandfather used to take us out here as kids.”

Peter frowns. “It’s not really different from the others.”

“That’s what you think,” Davy teases. “It’s magical. Grants wishes!” He pats his pockets. “Do you have any coins?”

Peter thinks for a moment and pulls off a shoe, reaching inside to pull out two coins.

“You’re wonderful,” Davy claps his hands together.

Peter hands him one, eyeing the fountain carefully. “What should I wish for?”

“Anything you’d like,” he smiles. “Except for more wishes.”

“Damn,” Peter pretends to be upset with the snap of his fingers. Davy giggles. “Okay, I think I’ve got one,” he nods.

“Okay,” Davy grips his own coin and closes his eyes, trying to figure out what to wish for. Would it be cheesy of him to wish to spend every day as happy as he is now? Probably. He wishes for it anyways, letting himself dream. 

He opens one eye to peek over at Peter, who holds a serious expression with his eyes shut tight. Davy has to hold himself back from laughing. He returns his focus to his own coin and takes a deep breath, tossing it into the fountain. Peter follows suit.

“Whad’ya wish for?” He turns to Peter with a smile.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not telling,” Peter shakes his head. “Otherwise it won’t come true!”

Davy copies his snapping expression from earlier. They both burst into a fit of laughter and reach for one another. If he stays by Peter, he won’t have to rely on that coin to grant his wish, will he? He clings to Peter’s arm. “Let’s go finish the tour.”

“Really?” His eyes light up. “I wasn’t boring you?”

“Of course not!” He leans his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Lead the way, Flower Master Tork.”

Though Micky is quite well-known for his friendliness with the staff, mainly because he’s constantly chatting up a storm to anyone who will listen, it still surprises Davy to find him in conversation with Peter. They’re both talking excitedly about bugs of all things as the gardener walks to meet Davy under their tree.

“The ones that blend in are so scary, though!” Peter shivers. “I always get surprised by them.”

“But they’re so pretty, Pete!” Micky clutches a hand to his chest in response. “They’re just trying to protect themselves!”

“Ew,” Davy cuts in as he stands up. “Don’t let Micky convince you to go bug hunting with him, it’s gross.”

“You had a fun time, don’t lie!”

“You let all the beetles we collected escape!” He crosses his arms.

“It was an experiment!” Micky throws his hands in the air. “There’s plenty of bugs out here anyways!”

Peter shivers. “Yeah, there are.”

“Okay, bye Micky,” Davy not-so-subtly tells him to get lost, already itching enough from nerves.

“Alright,” Micky rolls his eyes.

“See you later, Mick,” Peter waves him off.

“Good luck you two! Have fun!” Micky blows them kisses goodbye as he walks off to talk someone else’s ear off. Probably Mike’s.

Peter shifts his focus to Davy, full of bright energy. They’re going on a date today. Kind of. Hopefully. Davy can tell he’s eyeing the outfit, the clothes a bit more toned down than what he usually wears. His simple tweed coat is just thin enough for the inconsistent early summer weather and his cap will hopefully do its job of concealing his identity, though he can’t remember the last time he went into the village in such light dress (Micky always insisted on wearing ridiculous disguises).

“Ready?” He holds out his hand.

“Ready.” Davy takes it gladly.

They head out together, down the two-mile walk to town, a walk that is a bit bothersome in Davy’s opinion, but one he doesn’t mind all that much with Peter at his side.

The village is bustling with people. Folks are hurrying to and fro, shops are filled with customers, and restaurants are opening their doors for the lunch rush. The two of them have to weave through crowds of people as Peter guides Davy through the streets.

They end up at the front door of a brick apartment building, standing there quietly as Peter fumbles to find the right key. “Here we go,” he grins, unlocking the door and pulling Davy inside. Up the stairs is a row of old wooden doors and another staircase going further up, likely to more doors. Hm. Peter walks along the hall, stopping at 2D and knocking.

They wait a moment. Silence. Peter knocks again. Still silence. He mutters something and pulls out his keys to find the right one again, but the door swings open before he can even try the first one.

“Peter!” A tall redhead answers the door, a wide smile spreading across his face.

“Hiya Jamie!” Peter instantly wraps the stranger in a big hug that’s warmly received. David has to ignore the small pang of jealousy in his chest.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jamie frowns as they pull apart.

“I’ve been busy,” Peter shrugs nonchalantly. He turns back around with a smile, grabbing David’s wrist. “This is Davy.”

“Hello,” Davy quietly waves with his free hand.

“I’m Jamie,” he says as he stretches out his arm. They shake hands, loose and friendly rather than firm and business-like. Davy likes him already.

“Come in, come in,” Jamie gestures for them to enter the apartment, a relatively small space David realizes as they step in.

To their left is a kitchen that takes up an entire corner of the apartment, a simple dining table in the space across from it. There’s a simple window between the two spaces, looking out below at the bustling streets. The wall across from it is divided by a hallway, likely leading to a bedroom and bathroom. Davy looks around at the furniture, having to remind himself that he is familiar with a far more privileged upbringing. An upright pianoforte is pressed against the wall, next to a small shelf full of personal books and sheet music. Two armchairs and a table sit in one corner while the other is filled with small wooden crates and several instrument cases.

He turns back to the boys and Jamie recognizes the question in his eye before he can even ask.

“Pete uses my apartment as a storage locker,” he explains with a laugh.

“I hope you pay the poor man,” Davy joins in, turning to Peter.

“I do, I promise!” Peter doesn’t connect that the two are teasing them, looking a little concerned. Davy sighs and rubs his back out of comfort.

“Anyways,” Jamie laughs. He has the same kindness behind his eyes that Peter does. “Whad’ya need from me, Pete?”

“I was just gonna show Davy some of my things,” he smiles sheepishly. “We’re spending the day in town, so I thought he might want to listen to me play a little.”

“Oh, you work up at the palace, too?”

Davy nods, not really sure what else to say. He definitely wasn’t keen on sharing his status with an almost-complete stranger.

“Davy works in the kitchen,” Peter covers for him, wrapping an arm around David’s shoulders. Thank God he caught on.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then,” Jamie picks up a bag from beside the door. 

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want to kick you out,” Davy frowns.

“It’s fine, really. You boys have fun,” he says with a presumptive wink. Davy can feel his face flush.

“We will,” Peter doesn’t catch the implication, smiling brightly.

“I’ll be over at the pub if you two are up for a bite to eat later,” he flashes them a thumbs up and heads out of the apartment without another word.

“That was nice of him.” Peter smiles and already moves on to the next thought, heading over to the corner the instrument cases sit in and gesturing for Davy to follow. “I’ve kept my violin, banjo, cello, and double bass.”

“Wow,” Davy looks over all the cases, running his finger over the leather. “Were they expensive?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But they make me happy.”

Davy wraps his arms around Peter. “Then they were worth it.”

Peter leans into his touch. “Would you like me to play you something? You can pick which one I play.”

“Maybe the pianoforte? My mother only taught me a few songs when I was little.”

“Okay,” Peter eagerly leads him over to the piano bench. “Any requests?”

“Just something that makes you happy,” He shrugs as he sits.

Peter nods and stretches out his fingers. “I’m a little rusty,” he clarifies before he starts, clearly anxious about Davy’s response. Davy gives him a reassuring smile and he begins.

Though David’s not sure what piece it is, he knows Peter is playing it perfectly, a level of focus and precision with each stroke. His tongue sticks out as he plays, running over his top lip. The notes are fast-paced, far from something Davy would have learned as a child. It’s bright and beautiful. When Peter finishes, Davy claps excitedly.

“That was amazing, Peter!” He lightly elbows the gardener.

“Thank you,” Peter blushes. “That one was a Bach Invention. I know a couple of them if you’d like to hear more.”

“Of course I do, you’re marvelous!”

Peter continues to play a few short Bach pieces as well as other arrangements he knows, including a high tempo piece by Bach’s son. He also tries to teach Davy the start of a minuet, though Davy didn’t think his attempts were even close to successful.

He loves this. Getting to watch Peter in his element, getting to take a baby step into his world. There’s so much about Peter that he finds himself falling for, yet each day it expands more and more.

They do eventually get hungry, a loud growl from Peter’s stomach while he’s in the middle of explaining how long to hold a note for. “Oh,” he laughs softly.

“We can play some more later,” Davy smiles. “Let’s get some lunch.”

They head out to the pub that Jamie had mentioned, a small but cozy place a few blocks from the apartment. As they walk, Peter explains that Jamie and a few friends perform there a few nights a week and Peter joins them when he can.

Town is still busy. People are weaving out of various butcher shops, bakeries, and modistes, concerned with getting things done quickly and efficiently. They’re bumped into several times, leaving Davy clinging closer to Peter and tugging his hat down as they weave around everyone. Mike’s anxiety when they travel has slowly leaked into him.

“Crowds make me nervous, too,” Peter squeezes his hand. Even though he doesn’t have the right idea, the meaning and support behind it is enough. Davy squeezes his hand back.

When they finally make it into the pub, relief washes over him as it’s not too busy. His timepiece says it’s two in the afternoon, so it makes sense that fewer people are in the restaurants around the village.

Jamie is sitting at the bar when they walk in and he waves them over with a big smile. When they sit down to glance over the menu board, he recommends probably the best grilled cheese Davy’s ever had, a knowing grin on his face when Davy digs in.

Peter seems to be good friends with the bartender, the three men going on about some performance they watched a few weeks back. Though he feels a little left out, Peter squeezes his hand under the bar, letting him know he’s still just as important.

“Y’know, Pete,” the bartender starts. “If you wanna work here when they kick you out for the winter, we’d be happy to have you.”

Right. Davy had almost forgotten that the gardener job was temporary, that Peter likely had no reason to stay in Amway afterward.

“Oh, gosh,” Peter blushes. “I’m not really good with breakable things, Tom. But thank you for the offer.”

David studies Peter’s face, hoping for some hint to the answer of his unspoken question.

“I do think I wanna stick around, though,” he smiles and squeezes Davy’s hand again. “I like it here.”

When they walk home in the golden hours of late afternoon, Davy leans into Peter’s arm. He’s drained from all of the excitement, but he’s happy. Really happy. He looks over at Peter and smiles softly. Peter smiles back and Davy feels as if he could melt on the spot.

After their trip into town, all Davy can think about is letting Peter be a part of his world. Which isn’t easy, knowing that of all the people to court, a gardener wasn’t a choice kept in mind for the young royal. But that’s an issue for another day and Davy would rather not think of that. There is in fact a part of David’s world that Peter would gladly fit in with.

That following Wednesday, he’s late. He doesn’t mean to be, but getting everything together was not as easy as initially thought. So, Davy’s running through the gardens, though he’s careful not to run into any wheelbarrows. When he arrives in the clearing, out of breath and apologetic, he’s surprised to find Peter not alone.

“Sorry,” He pauses to breathe, the wind knocked out of him from how fast he ran. “I had to go—” Davy catches himself, pausing as he processes the scene in front of him. “Mike?”

“Hi Davy,” Mike waves awkwardly. He’s sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, watching as Peter plucks away at a guitar.

“Davy!” Peter brightens. “Mike and I were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Davy sits down next to them, unsure what to make of the situation.

“Of course,” Peter hands the guitar back to Mike. It’s strange to see his closest friends spending time with Peter. There’s a part of him that wants to keep him all to himself, so he’s absolutely sure that what they have is special, but he knows that that wouldn’t be right. Everyone deserves Peter’s kind smile and kinder heart.

“You were goin’ on about how many songs he knew on the piano, so I figured we could probably teach each other a song or two on the guitar,” Mike shrugs.

“We talked a bit about songwriting, too,” Peter grabs Davy’s hand and squeezes it like he always does. “Cause I can come up with melodies and harmonies and all that, but I’m no good with words.”

“We’ll work on it,” Mike laughs lightly and starts to get up. “I should leave y’all to it then, Davy’s surprise and all.”

They wave him off, Peter waiting a polite ten seconds before turning back to Davy with excitement.

“You have a surprise for me?”

“You’ll see,” Davy grins. He stands up and holds out his hand. “You have this afternoon off, right?”

“I do,” he nods slowly, taking it and standing up.

“Perfect. Come with me, then.” He barely lets Peter balance before he’s tugging him through the gardens. Though he seems confused, Pete stays quiet, patiently waiting for his surprise.

When they arrive at the stables, Peter’s eyes go wide at the long row of the horses. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers. Davy giggles softly, thankful that he had remembered an offhand comment Peter had made about wishing to have his own horse growing up.

“Aren’t they?” Davy guides Peter closer to them, walking in front of the horses until they stop at one with a palomino coat. “Hey girl,” Davy says calmly and holds out his hand to her, telling Peter to follow suit. “Hold your hand flat with all your fingers closed, so she can smell you.”

“Like a dog?” Peter laughs and does as he’s told. She licks her lips, letting Peter know she likes him. “What’s her name?”

“Scout,” he grins and guides Peter so that he can pet her neck. 

“Can I feed her?” He looks at Davy with big, begging eyes.

“You can ride her, too,”

“Really?” His reaction is priceless, exactly what Davy was hoping for.

“Of course,” he nods. “Scout’s a love, she’s great for beginner riders. Micky usually takes her when I manage to get him to go out.”

The stable boys help him set up Peter, getting him on the horse safely and making sure he understands the basics, walking around the small patch of land outside the stables.

“You sure you’ve never ridden one before?” Davy laughs a little, watching Peter grow more comfortable.

Eventually, Davy gets on his own horse, a chestnut-coloured one named Russell, and the two take off on an easy trail around the palace grounds.

Peter doesn’t stop smiling the entire ride, a laugh bubbling out of his chest when they gallop downhill. They pass by his father’s childhood treehouse, the wood rotting and returning to the earth. They pass by the other side of the pond and Davy can just picture the four of them playing together. Davy promises Peter that when he becomes more experienced, they can go up into the mountains and look at the views. They stay out all afternoon, returning to the stables just as the sun begins to set.

The stableboys have turned in for the day, so they have to put away the horses themselves. After ten minutes of struggle, they finally manage to wrangle both their horses inside the stables. They giggle together, putting away the saddles in the shed. Peter laughs in his ear, leaning down and brushing Davy’s bangs back into place. “You’re amazing, Davy,” he whispers.

His face burns red, staring deep into Peter’s eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers back. He’s never felt more himself than he has with Peter. Maybe because he couldn’t hide behind cheesy lines. Maybe because Pete is so genuine. The tension between them is thick. Is he wrong to think that Peter might kiss him?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to find out, a harsh yell of “TORK!” interrupting their moment. The two quickly break apart, turning to see the head gardener, glaring at them like an angry bull.

“Mr. Babbitt!” Peter squeaks.

“Why on earth are you doing in here?” Babbitt’s face is cruel and twisted. “You were on duty this afternoon!”

“No,” Peter shakes his head, fiddling with his hands as he cowers with fear. “I had the afternoon off, sir.”

“I told all of you this morning that there would be no more afternoons off until after Prince Harry’s party.”

“I—” He stutters, awkwardly standing there. Davy doesn’t know what to do. “I didn’t think that included ones that were already given, sir.”

“Well there’s your mistake, Tork,” he scoffs. Micky was right, he is an old dick.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Babbitt,” David cuts in. “Please don’t punish him.”

“You,” He grits his teeth, glare targeting Davy. “Go to your quarters, Tork.”

Peter looks over at Davy.

“Now, Tork!”

“Yes, sir,” Peter nods quickly and runs off without a proper goodbye. Davy feels sick to his stomach.

“You can’t punish him for something that’s my fault,” Davy protests.

“I can and I will,” he bites. “You need to stop distracting my staff.”

“Distracting? Peter sees me during his own free time.”

“And he spends the rest of the day with his head in the clouds.” Babbitt puffs out his chest the way a bird does when it tries to intimidate. The comparison is unkind to birds. “I’m nipping this in the bud, David.”

“What, so I can’t see him anymore?” He takes a step back.

“He’s a worker during the busiest season.” He gestures with his hands. “There’s a long line of boys waiting to be in his place and I’m sure you’d rather he keeps his little job here than be out on the streets.”

“So, you’ll fire him if I don’t stay away?”

“Of course.” He looks so fucking smug. “You should thank me, we all know you’d be sick of him in a week, anyways.”

Davy’s hands curl into fists. He’s sick of people dismissing him, chalking him up to a bored child. “It’s not like that,” he grits his teeth. Hadn’t he proven himself by now? Peter has been all he’s thought about for weeks.

“I don’t have time for this, David,” he rolls his eyes. “Or would you rather I get your father involved? I’m sure he won't be keen on the fact you’re pairing off with the staff. Especially not an oaf like him.”

“Oaf?”

“Leave Tork alone or he’ll be out of a job. It’s as easy as that.” Babbitt storms off before Davy can get another word in, leaving him standing there raw, in shock. Fuck.

“And then he called Peter an ‘oaf!’” Davy throws his hands into the air.

“No! Not an oaf!” Micky gasps, covering his mouth, though he quickly drops the act. “What’s an ‘oaf?’”

“It means ‘stupid,’” Mike clarifies, a hand on his hip.

They’re in Davy’s room, the morning after his argument with Babbitt. He’d barely slept the night before, frustration seeping into his bones. Peter didn’t deserve to lose his job over their friendship. And Davy didn’t think he deserved all of Babbitt’s bitterness for having feelings, real and true ones.

“Peter’s not—” Micky pauses. “Well…”

Davy shoots a glare his way.

“He’s very sweet, though,” he supplies sheepishly.

“Can’t you just go another week and a half not seeing him?” Mike suggests, but Davy responds by looking at him with the saddest little eyes. “Nevermind, then.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?” Micky paces the room, biting his nails.

“What can you do?” Mike sits down, stretching out on the sofa. “You’re sure you don’t want to tell your father?”

“I don’t want him to scare Pete off,” Davy sits at his dressing table. “And I really don’t know what Father would make of it, he might even side with Babbitt.”

Mick frowns. “Oh, c’mon, we all know Harry’s not like that.” 

“Just because I don’t have to participate in the Season doesn’t mean I’m free to marry anyone I wish,” Davy sighs, resting a hand on his cheek.

“MARRY?” Mike and Micky stare at him.

“Oh no,” he jumps to clarify. “Trust me, it’s far too early for that. That’s just what Father will think first.”

“What if we just take out Babbitt?” Micky proposes with a nonchalance he should not possess while talking about violence.

“Is that what you wanted those flowers for?” Mike looks at him incredulously.

“Those plans always go bad for us, Mick,” Davy shakes his head.

“Ooh!” Micky claps his hands together. “What about disguises? I love me a good costume!”

He shakes his head once more. “Don’t you remember the harvest festival last fall? He saw through our disguises instantly.”

“Then I’ve got nothing,” Micky pouts, throwing himself next to Mike on the couch. 

“You could write each other letters,” Mike suggests. “Meet up at night.”

“No, that wouldn’t—” Davy pauses, thinking it over for a moment. “Actually…”

David has never been in the greenhouses at night, finding himself surprised at the way the shadows stretch inside the building. It’s humid, he quickly notes, and rolls up his sleeves as he searches for Peter under the minimal moonlight.

“Davy?” Someone calls out, a hint of anxiety in their tone.

“Over here!” He’s careful not to stumble on the brick. His eyes are still trying to adjust when he spots Peter hiding in the dark. Hopefully, that means their rendezvous will be safely hidden.

Peter takes Davy’s hands as he sits, becoming an anchor in this less than familiar space. Fountains trickle behind them. “Are you alright?” He’s whispering, trying to keep them as hidden as he can.

“I am now,” Davy smiles.

“I missed you at lunch,” Peter tells him, rubbing circles with his thumbs on the backs of Davy’s hands. “Eating alone isn’t fun anymore.”

“I missed you, too,” Davy rests his head on Peter’s shoulder, taking in their environment. They don’t have long, but any time with him is better than none. “I’m sorry for getting you into trouble,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

“It was worth it,” Peter laughs in his ear. He’s warm and though it’s likely not practical due to the heat, Davy clings to him.

Peter excitedly tells him about the flowers that were just brought over from Essens, rare and beautiful yet perfect for the party.

Davy quietly listens, relaxing to the sound of Peter’s voice. He had in fact barely slept the night before. It’s a miracle he hadn’t dozed off sooner.

He’s not sure how long he’s asleep, but in a blink of an eye he’s stirring awake to the sound of the greenhouse door being open.

“Peter,” someone calls out anxiously. “Pete, Babbitt’s looking for you.”

“Shoot,” he frowns, looking over at Davy. “I should go,” his hand brushes Davy’s cheek.

“Okay,” Davy nods, slowly shaking off the sleep. “Write to me. Just little notes so I can think of you.”

“I will,” he smiles and kisses the top of Davy’s head. He heads off with his friend who called for him and Davy waits in the greenhouse a few minutes more. Sneaking around would be worth it. Just to see him. When he’s sure he won't get caught, Davy sneaks back to the palace.

They exchange letters throughout the next few days, though Davy is bummed out that he doesn’t get to see Peter over the weekend. They were going to have a picnic.

Peter wrote to him, as promised, small pieces of parchment passed along to Davy through Micky, notes filled with cute little poems and drawings. He’s rereading some of them at his dressing table when Mike appears in the doorway, looking a little worried.

“What’s wrong?” Davy spots him in the mirror, setting down his love notes and standing up.

“Margaret’s here.”

Fuck.

As the middle of Davy’s three sisters, Margaret has always straddled the line of making trouble for herself and bossing around her younger siblings. She means well, of course, but she is critical of her little brother, wishing for him to uphold the family standards in areas she unfortunately has lacked, being twenty-five and still unmarried. She wants what’s best for everyone, an annoying strive for perfection that often causes tension with Davy’s trickster side.

He wanders over to his wardrobe with a sigh. “Time to get ready, then?”

While she is generally just a judgy older sister, Maggie is particular about style, always commenting on how Davy does not dress the way a royal should. His simple white shirts meant for relaxing under the sun were not enough for a prince, which is unfortunate as he rather likes his day-to-day outfits. He usually has no issue with stiffer clothes, they can occasionally be fun, but there’s a difference between dressing up for fun and dressing up because Margaret wants him to look nice. Mike leaves him to get dressed, a mumble of “good luck” under his breath.

When he steps down to the main entrance, he’s found a decent enough compromise, a billowy shirt with lace decorating the cuffs and the collar. It’s not dissimilar to his everyday wear, but it has just enough embellishments to satisfy Maggie, especially when paired with his sleek coat, small jewels sewn into its cuffs.

He spots Micky, seemingly having wandered down just before him after his own heads up from Mike. He’s in a nice silk blouse, its long cuffs complemented by buttons with elaborate designs engraved in them. He’s also tossed on an embroidered vest that looks like something Mike would have worn. Actually, Davy’s sure he’s seen it before. Maybe Mike had loaned it to him. Although his shirt is unbuttoned at the top, Margaret likely won’t bother him about it considering the first time she commented on Micky’s state of dress, he burst right into tears. Since then, instead of the harsh critique Davy often faces, she compliments him. Unfortunately, it’s far too late for Davy to fake tears and get out of the ritual, especially given the pressure of being Maggie’s own flesh and blood.

“My boys!” Margaret steps into the palace as the doors to the main entrance open, a cheerful smile on her face.

“Maggie,” they smile together, hoping to please.

“Look at you both!” She pulls them each into a hug, smoothing out the lace of Davy’s collar as she pulls away. “So dapper, the two of you! Shall we have tea?” 

They end up sitting in the courtyard, Margaret wanting to take in the warm sun. She lives in the lakes region these days, used to the cooler temperatures in the mountains, and eager to take in the summer warmth.

Father gives her a quick hello, but is clearly too occupied planning the party to look up from the letters in his hand. Once he leaves, Maggie gets a particular glint in her eye that the boys know means trouble. As she has yet to find a spouse, much to the family’s chagrin, Margaret tends to divert the attention away from herself by questioning Davy and Micky about their romantic pursuits.

Maggie sips at her tea, eyeing the two boys. “Have either of you invited dates to Father’s party?”

Micky snorts. Davy rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Oh come on, now,” Margaret teases them. “I understand Father isn’t requiring you to participate in the social season, but you’re at marrying age now and really should begin to consider your options.”

“We’re into that whole ‘marrying for love’ thing, Mags,” Micky pours himself some more tea. “Besides, we’re not the most admirable candidates.”

“That shouldn’t stop you,” Maggie shakes her head, picking up a biscuit. “You can always look outside of the season. At least Davy has spent some time trying. You’re quite charming, Micky, I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult for you if you tried.”

“I don’t think finding someone is hard,” Davy grumbles, thinking back at his own misfortune. “Finding someone who’ll stick around is harder.”

She frowns at that, pulling back into her seat. “The gentleman from Bellame got scared off?”

“And the gal from Modere,” Micky counts on his fingers. “And her friend from Gemstra. Then the one from Intimo just wanted to be a prince and the girl from Le Reve was just a gold digger.”

“Oh, dear.” Margaret shakes her head. “I’m sorry you’ve had such trouble, David.”

“Well, he hasn’t had as much lately, considering—”

Davy glares at Micky, causing him to shut up and stuff his face with more snacks.

“Considering what?” Mags tilts her head, clearly interested in gossip. Though unmarried, she somehow fits in perfectly with the gossiping ladies that haunt their parties.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” Davy quickly reassures her. Right to his rescue, Mike steps out to the courtyard, clutching a letter in his hand. “Look, Maggie, it’s Michael!”

“Oh, Michael!” She claps her hands together and holds out her arms for him to hug her. He does, blushing at the affection. “Mike, you are the most well-behaved of all my dear brothers.”

Mike laughs awkwardly. “It’s part of my job description, Mags.”

She scoffs, knowing that Mike was far more to Davy than a guard, and moves her focus to the letter in his hand. “Who’s that for?”

“Oh!” Mike remembers what he had been up to. He hands Davy the letter across the table, a simple envelope without a proper wax seal. Davy knows who it’s from instantly.

He quickly opens it and reads Peter’s careful but slightly smudged handwriting. The band is playing in town tonight, he eagerly wrote. And he wants Davy to join him so he can watch them perform. There’s a smile spread across David’s face as he reads, but after fully processing the request, he crumples a little. 

“What’s wrong?” Micky frowns, instantly taking note of his body language.

“I forgot to tell him Catherine was coming tonight. I don’t think I have free time until after the party,” he sighs.

Margaret reaches for the letter, but Davy holds it close to him. She frowns. “C’mon, Davy, what’s the matter?”

“You won’t like to hear it,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get mad at me.”

Maggie furrows her brow. “Come now, Davy, it can’t be that bad.”

“No way,” Davy shakes his head once more, clutching the letter to his chest.

She looks over Mike and Micky, hoping their faces will reveal something about whatever she’s missing.

“Oh, come on, she could help us,” Micky pleads. He turns to Margaret before Davy can stop him from opening his big fat mouth. “He’s chasing after a gardener.”

“Micky!” Davy hits his arm.

Margaret’s eyes go wide, immediately flustered. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

Mike puts a hand on his shoulder as a defense, though he remains quiet.

“David, you’re a prince,” She huffs. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time fooling around with the staff!”

“It’s not fooling around,” Davy huffs back, standing up and brushing off Mike.

She stands up as well, holding the same fire Davy does, her face bright red with frustration. “You can’t seriously—”

“I can. We have these long conversations about our lives and the things we actually like,” he flares his nostrils, blood boiling through every inch of his body. “Peter likes me for me. Not for my title, not for my money, not just to kiss and tell. This isn’t like the others. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Margaret doesn’t meet his gaze, looking back over Mike and Micky for help, probably waiting for them to talk some sense into him. Davy doesn’t care, he’s just angry. He knows that his long line of suitors gives everyone the impression that’s either a delusional fool or a manwhore. He knows that his reputation won’t get better by courting a gardener. He knows that this is the last thing his father would want to hear. But he doesn’t care. He’s happy.

“Maggie, I know we let you boss us around because it makes you comforted that we’re doing better off than you, but I’m not a little boy.” He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m quite aware that I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, but it doesn’t change my feelings.”

She’s quiet except for the way that her breath shakes as she takes a deep breath. “You’re sure he’s a good one?”

“Pete’s got the Micky seal of approval,” Micky smiles, flashing a thumbs up.

She looks up at Mike.

“Peter’s a good kid,” he nods. “An excellent musician, actually.”

Maggie lets out a small laugh at that. She’s trying to stay mad, but she’s losing steam and quieting down. “I don’t want to get wrapped into it if you get in trouble,” she mumbles. “But I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Thank you,” Davy mumbles, losing his own steam. 

“Thanks, Mags!” Micky walks around the table to press a kiss to her cheek. He sits down next to her, staying there for the rest of the afternoon, hoping for his bubbly energy to offset the tension in the air.

Davy quietly drafts a reply letter and carefully hands it back to Mike, unsure how to interact from this point forward. When Mike comes back, he brings a deck of cards.

Though the mood stays down most of the afternoon, their spirits are livened in the evening when Catherine arrives, husband and children in tow. Micky is out of his seat the instant they are informed of the arrival, running into the main hall to get an armful of Ruthie and Jack, who laugh with delight. Though they don’t run, Margaret and David have a similar urgency to greet their older sister.

“Maggie! Davy!” Cate greets them with a smile, giving each of them a hug and a kiss on their cheek. She’s always been the most physically affectionate in her greetings, something David cherishes.

“How was the trip up?” Maggie asks.

“Beautiful,” she smiles. “It was fairly long, but Warren picked out some wonderful stays and the twins always love watching the world go by from inside the carriage.”

Warren, hearing his name, finishes speaking with the staff and wanders over, nodding at the two of them. “Margaret. David. I hope you’ve been well.” Catherine’s husband is quiet and business-like, letting his wife be the social one of the two. Davy doesn’t think he’s ever spoken with the man for longer than three minutes.

“Davy, have Father and Grandfather been alright? Getting letters on the beach is so hard sometimes.” Catherine and Warren live at the family’s summer house on the ocean, only living at home during the winter months.

“Just as they were when you left,” Davy chuckles. “You’ll see them at dinner.”

Dinner is a large spectacle now that most of the family is back home. A long table filled with turkey, roast potatoes, mince pies, and yorkshire puddings. David’s father usually holes up in his office all day, only attending meals when they have guests while Grandfather normally insists on eating far too early for Davy’s tastes. As Catherine is only home to require a family dinner during winter, the last meal of the day is often a quiet affair between Mike, Micky, and himself, sitting around one of their bedrooms rather than the dining table.

It takes far longer than it should to convince Mike that he’s allowed to sit with them, but thankfully dinner has no problems, his seat between David and Margaret. Micky sits between the children, showing off his impressions, the favored entertainment of two five-year-olds.

“I always forget how good you are with the two of them,” Catherine laughs, grabbing herself another potato. “Do you plan to have children?”

“I mean, yeah,” Micky laughs a little awkwardly, wiping food off of his cheek. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

She smiles warmly. “We really should start pairing you off, then, so we can—”

Both Micky and Davy let out a groan, cutting her off and laughing together at the combined family interest in their unwed state.

She drops the subject, rolling her eyes at the two of them and returning her focus to her meal. It only takes two hours for her to bring the topic back, as she and Davy split a bottle of wine in the drawing room, watching Micky play games with the twins.

“I really like that Bonvera girl,” Cate frowns, keeping her eyes careful on the children while they chat.

“She didn’t want anything serious,” he sighs, running his finger along the rim of his wine glass. “Which is only fun until they get bored of you.”

She nods in understanding, taking a contemplative sip. “Y’know, David. It’d be much easier if you just got with Micky.”

He sharply breathes in and chokes on his wine, scrutinizing her as he coughs and sets it on the table. “Micky?” She’s had too much to drink, hasn’t she? “You must be joking.”

“Oh, come on, David,” she rolls her eyes at his warranted dramatics. “The two of you are fairly close and you both like men, don’t you? You’d be such a charming couple.”

He gags at the thought. “Never. Not in a million years, Cate. He’s practically my brother.”

“It was just a thought,” she sighs, setting down her own glass. David knows that she just wants the best for him, but she wasn’t as observant as he thought her to be.

“It just wouldn’t work,” he shakes his head. “And even if I didn’t hate the thought of it, I can’t break Mike’s heart like that.”

“Mike?” Catherine fully turns to him, utterly confused.

Davy rolls his eyes, unsure how he was the only one who could see it. “Look,” he nudges her, pointing at Mike’s spot in the corner. He’s sat there watching Micky with the dopiest expression Davy’s ever seen. Ridiculous. Yet Mike teases him for being a lovestruck fool.

“Oh my gosh!” She looks back and forth between the two of them. “How have I never noticed that?”

“Don’t worry,” David says with a laugh. “Neither of them have either.”

Cate claps her hands together, a glint in her eye. “We should meddle!”

“I’ve tried,” he complains. “They’re absolutely oblivious, nothing’s going to convince them but each other.”

“Hmph,” she pouts.

“Besides,” Davy crosses his arms. “Mike is technically staff. Father would never approve of it.”

“But it’s love, David,” Catherine tuts, as if that is the perfect excuse to break rules. He thinks of the mess he’s in, how despite Babbitt’s threats scaring the shit out of him, he’s still willing to risk things. Just to see Peter. Maybe it really is the perfect excuse.

Davy sleeps in the next morning, closing his eyes to fall back asleep each time he wakes until the edges of his mind are no longer fuzzy. He doesn’t wander downstairs until early afternoon, when Eleanor has already arrived with her fiancé on her arm, a tall tan-skinned man named Francis that David had not had the pleasure of meeting. They’re eating lunch on the balcony with Margaret and Micky, looking out at the sprawling gardens. Apparently, Elle has been home long enough to have already given him a tour.

“They’re gorgeous,” Francis tells Davy as he digs into his salad, happy to be with the family.

The lunch is quiet compared to the other meals he’s had with his siblings within the last twenty-four hours, though Eleanor has always been the quiet one, keeping to herself. When they were younger, the two of them constantly sat on opposite ends of a couch, quietly reading until they finished their books, and then swapping books between each other. Though Eleanor never saw the appeal to Davy’s romance novels.

As he finishes off his salad, Davy curiously watches the terrifying duo of Maggie and Micky whisper back and forth, only to slowly process in horror what exactly they’re talking about.

“You’re right, he is quite cute,” Margaret giggles a little too loud.

His eyes go wide and he quickly follows Maggie’s line of sight, spotting just as he thought, the kind little gardener carefully gathering roses. God, Davy hasn’t seen him in days. He feels the heat rushing to his face.

Micky looks at him, mischief underneath his smile. He cups his hands around his mouth, looking out below the balcony. “Hey, Peter!”

Peter quickly looks around, confused.

“Up here, Pete!” Micky waves his hands above his head.

He looks up and waves back excitedly, a smile spreading across his face as he makes eye contact with Davy. Davy’s face burns. Micky’s such a dickhead.

He shyly waves back before returning to his seat, shooting a glare Micky’s way. “Not funny.”

“Who was that?” Eleanor looks at the three of them with confusion.

“Just a friend of mine,” Micky laughs heartily. Davy makes a mental note to get back at him later.

As the afternoon wears on, Mike asks them to practice their performance a few more times, wanting the three of them to discuss exactly what they’ll do, hoping they become comfortable being on the small stage together. Though the ballroom will be packed when they perform, it currently only sits Eleanor and Francis, who listen eagerly.

They’ve finally nailed down the harmonies, so there’s not much more practice they could possibly do. “You can’t fix perfect,” Micky jokes, though Mike still insists they go through it a few more times, his stagefright more convincing than either of them could ever be.

By the end of the rehearsal, Davy and Micky have diverted the course of attention enough to be singing children’s rounds together, Mike playing several chords under them so there’s some semblance of a band composition. It’s really fun, actually, reminding Davy that even if they do things to piss him off, even if the two of them are absolutely and annoyingly oblivious to the fact they're in love with one another, Micky and Mike are his brothers. And he loves them.

After spotting Peter in the garden, David can’t help but wish to see him again, despite knowing that they have no time. Two days before the party, he writes Peter a letter to meet him at midnight near the path to the pond. Which he does, his wide smile and golden brown hair shining in the moonlight. He’s carrying towels in his hands, just as he was told, while Davy holds a lantern for them to share. “Hi Davy,” he says cheerily.

“Hi Peter,” he feels his face burn. Peter takes his hand as they begin down the path, hurrying out of view from anyone who might be lingering on the palace grounds. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

“It’s alright,” Peter nods, his hair bouncing with him. “We’ve been quite busy on displays. Babbitt’s real stressed.”

David nods politely, letting Peter go into detail about all the different floral arrangements they have been making, that he’ll be putting out on display tomorrow. He’s awfully cute when he goes on about things that excite him.

Ten minutes later, they’ve reached the pond, which is beautiful under the moonlight. Peter smiles and sits on a log, pulling off his boots and beginning to undress. Davy sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and begins taking off his own shoes.

“I’ve never gone swimming at night,” Peter laughs softly, kicking off his trousers and setting them aside.

“Neither have I,” Davy smiles and pulls off his belt. “I think my father once told me a story about him running off to swim at night, but I’ve never done it myself.”

“I’m glad we’re doing it together, then,” Peter brightens. He stands up, finally dressed down to his underwear. “I still haven’t had time for a bathing suit,” he blushes.

Davy reaches for his hands and is pulled up. “Mine isn’t very appealing,” he laughs a little and finishes tugging off his shirt, displaying his black and white striped suit.

“I think you look handsome,” Peter grabs his hand and squeezes it. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

“I wanted to see you,” He grins.

Peter’s blushing. Davy can’t help but giggle.

They walk to the shore, hands still clasped, and wade in together until the water reaches above Davy’s chest. It’s colder at night, but the shock is pleasing. He turns to Peter, taking a deep breath. “Ready?”

Peter nods and squeezes his hand. On the count of three, they both duck underwater.

The water is far colder when they duck under, but the air is warm as Davy breaks the surface, laughing and pushing the wet hair out of his face. Peter comes back up, giggling and pulling Davy close. It’s fairly intimate.

Peter surprises Davy by splashing him, eliciting a gasp from the young prince. “It’s on now, Tork!”

They roughhouse together in the water, though considerably gentler than they had been with Mike and Micky. They splash and jump at each other, their laughter filling the wooded area around them. It’s wonderful, Davy smiles, though their playfighting is draining.

“Gosh, I’m tired,” he eventually sighs, their fighting fizzled out as he bobs in the water.

“Come over here, I’m standing,” Peter gestures for him to swim over, pulling Davy in by the arms when he’s close enough.

Davy giggles and places his hands on Peter’s shoulders. Peter touches him at the waist, keeping him steady.

“Hi,” Peter smiles.

“Hi,” Davy blushes. “Are you having fun?”

“I always have fun with you, Davy.”

Davy has to look away out of embarrassment, deciding to rest his head on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to impress all these people. Like, a lot more than I’m proud of.”

“Impressing people isn't easy,” he feels Peter nod.

“I don’t feel like I have to impress you, Peter.”

“Is that a good thing?” He tilts his head.

“It is,” Davy nods, pulling back to face him. “I wanted to, in the beginning, but you were different. I’ve never liked anyone the way that I like you.”

Peter also flushes red. “Never?”

“Never.”

There’s a silence between them.

Peter looks down at the water. “I like you so much that it’s scary.”

God. Davy’s falling for him. He traces circles on Peter’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“It’s not like nightmare scary,” he explains. “It’s like going out on a stage to perform scary.”

“I know what you mean,” Davy nods. “It’s that kind of scary for me, too. I’ve never had someone look at me the way you do.”

“Everybody should look at you the way I do. You’re wonderful.”

Davy blushes, hiding his face in Peter’s shoulder again. He feels ridiculous, but at least he’s not alone.

“I wish we could spend every night like this,” Peter sighs.

He lifts up his head, trying to regain composure. “Are you going to the birthday party?”

“We’re not supposed to,” Peter frowns.

He stares out at Peter, studying the disappointment in his face. “Please come.”

“But isn’t Babbitt—”

“Please, Peter,” he begs, locking eyes with him.

“Okay,” he nods. “I will. I trust you.”

After a few more minutes of just holding each other, they swim for a little while longer. When Peter lets out a loud yawn, they both know it’s time to go. They hold hands as they walk back, leaning into each other the whole way. As Peter parts, he presses a kiss to David’s temple. Peter likes him.

His good spirits on the rest of his walk through the garden are ruined by none other than the slimy mole Babbitt.

“Where have you been?” The head gardener casts a glare at him.

“I went for a midnight swim,” Davy chirps back, trying to walk past him. “That is my family’s name on the land, isn’t it?”

Babbitt grabs his wrist. “Tork’s not in his room.”

“And? Peter has friends in town. He’s probably visiting with them.” Davy tugs his arm out of Babbitt’s grasp. “The party’s the day after tomorrow, I don’t have the time for Peter.”

“I know you’re up to something, you brat.” He sneers.

Davy rolls his eyes, deciding it’s best to ignore him, and heads back to his room. Hopefully, Peter made it back in time.

The giant knot of feelings and butterflies that lives in David’s stomach has not settled since his rendezvous with Peter at the pond. It’s pretty embarrassing of him, considering all he’s feeling is regret as he stands in front of the mirror, preparing for his father’s birthday party. Not regret for sneaking out, but regret towards his own inaction. Why had he invited Peter to the party? Why couldn’t he have just ignored the nerves and kissed him right there?

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this!” Micky teases him, sitting at the dressing table instead of being any sort of help.

“Peter’s different,” he grumbles as Anne helps him into his suit, a simplified version of his royal uniform. He’s thankful for the amount of time he’s spent under the sun these few weeks, the black and gold complimenting his tan. “All that stuff feels cheesy when I speak to him.”

“Your lines always were pretty cheesy,” Anne giggles, buttoning him up.

“Thank you, Anne,” Davy rolls his eyes.

“But I think he’ll like whatever you say,” she smiles kindly.

Micky claps his hands together. “Which is why you should just ask him as soon as you see him!”

Davy continues to ignore him, adjusting his epaulets in the mirror. “Are you coming tonight, Anne?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was given the night off, but I’m still quite averse to crowds. I’d like to see you perform, though, so maybe I’ll pop in for a bit.” Anne’s role is mainly as a traditional servant, assigned to help with things like clothing and bathing or delivering meals, despite the fact the two of them are rather independent. They enjoy her company, though, so Micky likes to ask for her assistance when they have big events. Or whenever he feels lonesome and requests her company (oddly enough, he often likes to converse with her while in the bath, which freaks Davy out to no end). 

“It’s gonna be great,” Micky grins, excitement palpable. “The song Mike wrote is amazing.”

“I know,” she giggles. “You never shut up about it.”

Anne pulls Micky off of the couch, making him stand up so she can help him into his own suit, keeping the boys company as the late afternoon wears on, even as their initial excitement turns to anxiety.

“Breathe,” she tells them, her smile unwavering. Everything will work out fine.

Guests begin to trickle in just before the sun sets, the party officially roaring as the gorgeous magenta fades into a cool indigo. High society families stroll in, their daughters and sons dressed to the nines, hoping their child’s charm will create strong and powerful bonds. Normally, Davy would be weaving through the crowd, a potential match of great worth that all the parents would shove their children towards, if they’re not concerned with the continuation of their line, that is. But Davy has no interest tonight, his eyes carefully searching for Peter’s eventual arrival.

The large floral arrangements he helped make are beautiful pops of colour throughout the room, carefully placed in a way that accents the natural beauty and architecture of the ballroom. They’re well done, but the knowledge of the stress the poor gardeners faced to make them adds a bitterness David doesn’t want to think about.

The doors to the marble balcony are kept open to fight against the warmth of a room full of dancing bodies and the humid summer heat that thankfully still cools off in the evening. Davy can see parts of the balcony from where he sits, groups of people laughing, drinking, and smoking with a special kind of camaraderie that can only be granted to strangers at a party as you lose your inhibition. 

The snacks lining the long tables around the bar look absolutely scrumptious, but Mike sternly told them not to eat before their performance and you really don’t want Mike to get cross with you. Davy’s sure Micky’ll be making a beeline for the tiny cakes as soon as they get off the stage. The stage itself has a regular band playing, string instruments playing excitedly for the young dancers. Though they sit on the other side of the ballroom, the acoustics successfully travel the sound to their seats with ease.

Grandfather looks out on the party with a smile. Davy and Micky sit on either side of him in comfortable chairs, Mike standing at Davy’s shoulders. They’ve been teased by their other family members for being wallflowers, but the nerves of performing quell any thoughts of partying. Davy can watch all of them from his seat, actually. Catherine and Warren are gathering drinks from the bar now that Ruthie and Jack are fast asleep. Margaret is chatting with an old friend, using lively hand gestures. Eleanor and Francis are dancing to the music, stopping occasionally to receive congratulations. Father is mingling through the party, wearing a special birthday sash that Margaret made him. He seems happy with the celebration, a large smile on his face. Davy’s a little embarrassed that he doesn’t fit into this scene.

He’s keeping his eyes peeled, hoping to spot a familiar golden-brown head of hair, but there’s no hint of Peter anywhere. He does spot Babbitt, who basks in compliments about the arrangements that Davy knows he neither designed nor touched, taking credit for the work that the gardeners broke their backs to create. It leaves him in a foul mood, convincing him to search for a distraction.

“Are you going to dance, Grandfather?” David asks, looking over at the king.

“After your performance,” he smiles and pats Davy’s hand. 

Mike shifts next to him, obviously nervous. There’s a lot more people here than he probably thought there’d be and the three of them haven’t performed in front of a real audience before.

Davy looks over at Micky, who is biting his nails, leg bouncing up and down. “Micky,” he hisses at him to stop.

Micky jumps, shooting a glare at Davy and then a smile at Grandfather. “You’ll still cheer if we sound bad, right Granddad?” Only Micky gets to call him that.

Grandfather laughs softly. “Of course, I will. Though, you boys should have far more confidence. I believe in you.”

Within twenty minutes, they’re setting up on the stage to perform, nerves shaking through their bodies as palace staff announces a “Special Performance for the Prince.”

Davy adjusts the acoustic setup as Mike double checks his tuning and Micky turns to address the crowd.

“Hiya, folks!” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “Great party, right? I’ve been eyeing the snack table all night.” That gets some laughs, lightening the tension a little. “So, Harry here is a big fan of us having interests besides causing mischief,” He puts a hand to his mouth, fauxing a stage whisper, “I wonder why.” More laughter. “So, Mike here wrote a song, a pretty groovy one, and we figured it would be fun to perform together, so that’s what we’re gonna do!”

Micky sits down next to Mike, and they all look at one another, taking a deep breath together as the room stays silent, all eyes on them. 

Mike starts with his guitar, singing softly and commanding the full attention of the people of the ballroom. It’s a beautiful song of regret, Mike having a love for storytelling in his songs As Davy and Micky join in to harmonize, the anxiety melts away. It’s invigorating, actually, singing together like this, the pressure of a full audience listening carefully, some maybe wanting them to mess up. They make a wonderful sound together, sweet and melancholic, and a roar of applause fills the ballroom as they finish.

After the performance, Grandfather finally accepts his offer to dance, and the two of them step out onto the floor together. Davy always makes Grandfather dance with him during parties, considering the man forced him to take dance lessons growing up. They have a blast, of course, the two of them dancing earnestly, and Davy can’t help but giggle as he’s spun around the room. Mike and Micky are dancing as well, but neither of them tend to stick around after the first hour of parties, so Davy doesn’t expect to see them much longer. His eyes scan around the room, as they have all night, and he finally spots his target, standing awkwardly at one of the balcony doors. Davy stops in place, meeting Peter’s gaze. His chest fills with warmth.

“Davy?” His grandfather reacts to the abrupt stop. “Is everything okay?” He‘s concerned, turning around frantically in an attempt to spot what has caught Davy’s eyes.

“Oh, sorry!” Davy turns his attention back. “I just saw a friend of mine.”

“Ah,” Grandfather nods before giving him a sly look. “Is this someone you’re courting?”

His face turns bright red, which is all the answer Grandfather needs.

“Go ahead, son,” Grandfather smiles and pats his back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Davy kisses his cheek and runs off, headed straight to the balcony. Peter sees him and opens up his arms, perfect for Davy to jump into them and get spun around, the two of them giggling the whole time. “Did you see us perform?”

“I made it just in time,” Peter grins wide as he sets Davy down. “You were wonderful, Davy. You should come sing with us in town sometime.”

“Maybe,” Davy blushes and pulls away to look Peter up and down, taking note of his outfit. It’s just a tan blazer over a simple off-white shirt, but the small red scarf at his neck is so charming, Davy wants to pull him down by it and kiss him. He won’t. But he wants to.

Peter takes his hands and squeezes them softly, smiling. Davy looks behind them, making sure Babbitt hasn’t spotted them, and pulls Peter further outside, onto the balcony. “Are you having a good time?” Peter asks.

“I’m having a marvelous time now that you’re here,” Davy giggles. They sway to the music, soaking in each other’s attention, so much so that Davy doesn’t realize he’s bumped into someone. “Sorry,” he yelps.

“Oh, your highness!” The woman he ran into turns to him, done-up blonde hair and kind wrinkles at her eyes. She’s got a cigarette between her fingers. “Care to join us? I promise we won’t tell your father.”

Davy blushes bright red, feeling as if he’s been caught. “I’m good, thank you.” He turns back to Peter and pulls him away from the group of smoking adults, headed to the stairs. “Let’s slip into the gardens for a bit, yeah?”

Peter gladly is tugged along, laughing a little.

“What’s so funny?” Davy huffs as they step down the stairs. “You like to see me squirm?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, catching his breath when they reach the bottom steps. “ That lady thought you were the prince,” he giggles.

She thought you were the prince. Oh no.

David’s eyes go wide and he stops in his tracks, waiting for a punchline that never comes.

“What’s the matter?” Peter stops laughing as they freeze, frowning when he notices Davy’s expression. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I just— You didn’t—! I thought you knew.” This is so embarrassing.

“Knew what?” Peter is concerned and Davy hates to worry him but he feels like someone just dunked his head in a cold bucket of water.

He thinks back on all of their interactions. God, no wonder he was always confused by Davy’s knowledge of the palace. Why he was so surprised by Mike being at the picnic it left a staleness in the air. Why he’d been so quick to help Davy hide his identity in town. “Peter, do you think I’m a kitchenhand?”

Now it’s Peter’s eyes that go wide, realizing he’s made a mistake. “Are you not?”

“No,” Davy shakes his head, letting out a nervous laugh. “Far from it.”

“Oh.” He’s finally connected the dots. “So, you’re…”

Davy nods, hand shaking as Peter holds it. Peter looks at him carefully, just as nervous. “Does that change things for you?”

God, what would he do if it did? What if he scares Peter away? There’s no one else like him.

Peter seems concerned, too. He looks so worried that it aches. “Do you still like me?” He says it in a scared whisper.

“Yes,” Davy nods. “I don’t think anything could make me stop.”

“Then it doesn’t change anything,” Peter smiles. Thank god.

“Okay,” Davy squeaks, not sure what to do next.

Peter seems to have already forgotten about it, tugging him along, into the gardens. It’s different under the minimal light, more private. They can still hear the music from this far out, though it’s fairly faint.

Peter holds out a hand. “Care to dance?”

“Of course,” He accepts.

They sway under the moonlight, a little awkward at first, but soon they relax and travel along the open space left just for them, stepping together.

“Who taught you to dance?” Davy asks as he’s twirled around with only minimal hesitation.

“My mother,” Peter smiles. “We used to dance in the kitchen while we waited for our sweets to bake.”

Davy smiles back. “I danced with my mother when I was younger, too. Long before I had proper lessons, though.”

They continue to dance through several songs, Davy’s thoughts racing. Micky, the hypocrite he is, had given him a lecture before they dressed for the evening, insisting that David needed to quit being a coward and take some action. Davy knows that he’s right, unsure how to do exactly that as their dance starts to drift into the two of them slowly swaying in each other’s arms. He takes a deep breath, ready to pour out his heart, but Peter speaks first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he tells Davy as they sway. “Thinking too much makes my head hurt, but it was something worth thinking about, y’know?”

Davy nods, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder, a move he’s becoming far too familiar with. He has to hide some of himself, doesn’t he? In case he has to brace himself for a broken heart.

“I know I said that liking you was scary,” Peter mumbles, still swaying. “But running off into the water with you was scary, too. And it was fun. I think it was the best night of my life.”

He lifts his head, searching Peter’s eyes for any proof that this might be a lie, that this is just a dream he’s having. But no, Peter is genuine as ever.

“I figured that if you don’t do that scary thing, you might miss out on the time of your life,” his eyes sparkle. “Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Davy nods his head.

“Then maybe we should just jump into the lake? The metaphorical one.”

“The pond.”

“The pond?” He frowns, unsure what kind of response that is.

“We call it the pond,” Davy laughs and grabs him by that scarf, pulling him into a kiss.

Peter giggles, leaning into his touch, and it’s better than Davy ever could have dreamed it to be, the rush of emotions and finality as they crash into each other. Davy’s kissed many people in his life, has read countless stories that climax with a romantic kiss, but nothing could compare to this moment and the way Peter’s hand cups the back of his head, just as he first did weeks ago when he gave Davy that daisy chain, and there’s nothing more that Davy has ever wanted.

Peter licks his upper lip as he pulls away, hoping that his assumptions aren’t wrong this time. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” Davy laughs and he doesn’t wait to kiss him again.

They stay in the gardens for a while longer, kissing and talking, lightheartedly teasing each other over their confusion about David’s status. When they eventually wander back to the party, they’re holding hands in their giddy state, basking in each other’s attention. It’s such a nice moment that Davy forgets the two were supposed to be sneaking around. He’s quickly reminded.

Babbitt’s wait for them at the top of the stairs. Pissed beyond belief.

“Mr. Babbitt!” Peter stiffens as he comes into view. Davy drops his hand.

“I knew you two had been sneaking after I told you explicitly not to,” he snarls. “I don’t know why I assumed a spoiled brat and an idiot like yourselves would listen, but I figured threatening to tell your father would be enough.”

“Mr. Babbitt—”

“Can it, Tork,” he snaps. “It’s too bad, I have to ruin your father’s birthday, it was such a lovely party.”

“Please don’t,” Davy begs. They’d been so careful until now, had finally figured everything out, only to get shot down at the gates.

You brought this on yourself, fooling around with my staff. He’s going to hear all about this, kid,” His nostrils flare, monstrous true colours reminiscent of a great dragon to be slain. “Go collect your things, Tork. You’re fired.”

“Actually,” someone interrupts from behind Babbitt. “I think you’re the one who should pack their things.”

Grandfather steps into the light, his strong silhouette intimidating as it looks down on them at the top of the stairs

“I—, uh, sir!” Babbitt goes stark white. “I’m sure you can understand my position, Your Majesty.”

“Your position in harassing your staff in their free time? And threatening my grandson?”

“Well, I, uh—” He splutters.

“I never understood why my son hired such a louse,” Grandfather spits. “As I said, I want you off my grounds by sunrise.”

“But I’ve worked here for fifteen years!”

“And you have lost any respect that may have earned you,” the king bites back. “Now, get out of my sight before I have you escorted off the premises.”

Babbitt nods quickly and rushes off in terror.

“Are you alright there, David?” Grandfather looks down at him with concern.

Davy nods, though he’s a little shaken up. He grabs Peter’s hand and walks the two of them up the rest of the stairs, onto the balcony. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispers.

“I’m so sorry he’s given you so much trouble,” he places a hand on Davy’s shoulder. “I would have fired him sooner if I had known.”

“It’s alright, Grandfather,” David composes himself. “You were there when we needed you most.”

“Now,” He rubs his hands together. “Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?”

“Oh! Right!” He turns to Peter, who seems very confused. “Peter, this is my grandfather. Grandfather, this is Peter.”

Grandfather shakes his hand, a smile on his face. 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Peter says quietly clearly intimidated. “Should I...?” He starts to get on his knees.

“No, no, it’s okay, son,” Grandfather laughs, helping Peter stand back up. “I assume you’re one of our talented gardeners?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter nods. “I’m very happy to have my job here.”

“It seems my grandson is happy that you do as well,” he laughs again. “I should leave you two to your fun, yes David?”

Davy nods quickly, thankful for the man’s understanding.

“I’ll keep my trap shut until you’re ready to explain it to your father,” he smiles. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

He sighs with relief, grateful to have that last issue taken care of, at least for the time being.

Davy turns back to Peter, who smiles like Davy is the entire world. Davy takes his hand, the two walking the expanse of the balcony until they reach a more secluded area. The two of them kiss softly under the moonlight. “I wish we could dance in front of everyone,” Davy sighs.

“I’d dance with you anywhere, Davy,” Peter kisses his knuckles.

“Even here?” They’re on the stretch of balcony hidden behind the band that plays inside. While it is far louder than comfortable, it’s private. Just for them.

“Even here,” Peter pulls him close. They begin to dance once more, laughing as they spin and twirl, Peter rusty enough that they stumble into each other but knowing enough to stop them from falling to the ground. Of all the romance novels he’s read, Davy far prefers this quiet conclusion, feeling complete as Peter dips him and pulls him back up, right into a kiss, letting Davy melting in his arms. He’s still anxious, the future ahead of them likely to be a road full of uncertainty, but he can forget that for now. All that matters in this moment is the boy laughing in his ear, lighting his chest afire and keeping him safe in his embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the time to read my silly little fic. These past six months have been a WILD but very fun ride, no matter what anguish this fic has caused me.
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated, even if they're short! Don't worry if you find yourself with some unanswered questions, this will NOT be the only fic I release for this AU. Have a wonderful day! <3
> 
> Once again, you can find me and Wes mainly on Twitter, [Iemonsundrop](https://twitter.com/Iemonsundrop/) and [mthernaturesson](https://twitter.com/mthernaturesson/) (where we are likely to be talking about the Monkees, the AU, all kinds of music, and the intricacies of these two-dimensional characters.  
> You can also find Wes's art on [Tumblr](https://autmnalmanac.tumblr.com/) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/autmnalmanac/)


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